The majesty of a toppled kingdom has little compare.
The ruinous vestiges of what was once great can be brought no
lower than its empty halls, the dull and broken panes of windows, the
abandoned throne. Echoing rooms, grand but bare, cracked marble and
ashen, once fine silver.
It bears witness yet to a proud and mighty heritage, forgotten
by its people but preserved in stone and carapace, tapestry and carving.
The castle upon the hill was just the same, looking down on the
wartorn, blood stained city below with the empty, staring eyes of a lost
civilization, yet with the same majesty as the day it had been built;
the stone was unmoved even by the clinging vines and the unholy denizen
it housed, resisting the change in the air that moved the souls of every
monster it touched without flinching.
It was mere rock, many would claim. Uninhabitable, through the
fetidity of the fell winds that haunted its halls… empty of all but the
most twisted of corpses and the unblinking, ever watching eyes of the
creature the palace had created. Ignored, by those that could see it
through the clouds of poison mist… forgotten, by the rest.
By all but one, the last remaining of a long line of rulers…
awakened by the same diseased mists that had put to sleep the morality
of his kin and kind. Felled many years ago by fate unkind, remembered
only in stony effigy and fond legend, in the memories of those slain and
tortured by that same cruel destiny.
Preserved as a statue, to honor his legacy, and spread with the
remaining dust that hadn’t littered his beloved garden… the king of
monsters.
Toppled years before by the rampaging of the unholy creature,
shattered and untended, Asgore lay among the dry and withered blooms of
his garden, watching over the home he had built with his own two hands
from his prison of granite, incapable of anything but weeping silent,
black tears and willing the world to turn, for the suffering of his
people to end.
He could hear their screams and howls echoing through the empty
halls of the palace, the all too familiar sound of warfare and pain
resounding in the caverns that should have been respite and
home
.
The agony of his failure, of his inability to save his people
from their unjust end, would have broken any monster’s soul into shards.
Beyond life, beyond death, he could only watch, and wait, and beg the
stars, the absent, silent universe, for peace and hope for the monster
race.
The stars did not respond though… not now, and not once over
the fifteen years he had been forced to bear witness to the end of his
kind.
Another tear streaked the unmoving, stained stone, dripping from
the end of a carved snout and onto the saturated petals below. Leaves
rustled in an unholy breeze, carrying the toxic fumes of disease and
malice from deeper within the palace, and far above, the innumerable,
staring eyes followed the path of a single, withered bloom, swept along
in the path of the ill wind.
It came to a halt in a pile of broken glass just within the
doorway, settling with a quiet tinkling… before a spiked vine the
thickness of a tree trunk swept from the shadows, crushing it, the
glass, and the stone tile below it into dust.
Maniacal laughter shook the palace like an earthquake, mouths
lined with razors and shattered glass opening along the walls and
ceiling to shriek with unholy laughter in accord, and far below, gripped
tight in a viney embrace of his own, Asgore shed yet another tear, the
last, faint trace of hope left in his shattered soul dissipating into
nothing.
There was no salvation from their fate.
There was only death, and the hunger that ate at the stomach he no longer had.
That's a (relatively) good thing^^ I was thinking of donating food here, like in the last blog, to stave off the hunger further. Any particular wishes?
“anything that didn’t use to have a face. …maybe something healthy a growing kid should have. in the end… it won’t really matter, though. the hunger never leaves, even when we have enough to go around. its the nature of the thing, i ‘spose.”
The lingering traces of life once lived, words once spoken, places and things once known.
For a monster, memory was as vital as magic, as much part of
them as the sorcery of the universe. It echoed in the beat of their
souls, stimulated their magicks… and lingered on long after their lives
had faded, in the minds of those they had loved, as well as the world
around them, the whisper of bygone days and the fondness of their hearts
empowering where their dust settled in their final rest.
Memories… reliving the good and the bad, years old and young. A magic unlike any other.
For humans, memory faded with time, rather than growing
stronger. As their body’s faculties failed, their recollections of
bygone days left them too, leaving behind a cloud of empty, numb bliss.
They would disappear entirely, after only a few generations of humanity
had sped by, only the luckiest and most renowned of humans lasting to
become legend.
They certainly didn’t linger on after they had left their
bodies, any magic their hidden, withered souls held dissipating the
moment of their deaths, left to rot in their pine boxes and soil
prisons.
Most, at the very least.
There were some humans, throughout their kind’s violent and
calamitous history, that did not pass on. Whether through force of will,
or perhaps even soul deep passion of various kind, the magic of their
souls carried on and became spectres, often tortured and twisted beyond
recognition of what they once had been, within the mortal coil.
Memories; rotted memories, destitute of reason, meaning, or
consequence. Consigned to an eternal fate without relief, without the
opportunity to be reborn into a new form… in agony, for lack of that
final sleep.
In time, many of the lingering spirits of those destined for
such a future faded too, their magicks failing them and dissipating into
nothingness. There was no existence beyond that last fate, but by the
end, the wisps that once were people did not care, wishing only for
oblivion.
There has only ever been one, a single being, that never faded.
An isolated, determined soul that lingered on year after year, decade after decade…
century after century, only gathering strength and the will to live
again.
Some speculation can be made as to why. Perhaps it was the
presence of the barrier about the mountain… preventing the spirit of the
long dessicated, moldered human from escaping, just as the magic of
departed monsters could not leave to rejoin the stars they so loved.
Perhaps it was the strength of their soul, pervasive and willful in life
and, maybe, just as unmoving in death.
Or perhaps it was the anger they had harbored in their
tragically short life, the hatred and bitterness that had filled their
heart with malice and, ultimately, lead to their passing from this
world.
Whatever the case, for whatever reasoning that they remained
behind when so many of their kind had moved on, they lingered on in
lonesome isolation in the place where they had fallen many hundreds of
years ago, a shadow on the carved wall of the cavern filled with
buttercups, a trick of the light on the head of their weathered
gravestone.
A tinkle of a child’s laughter, whispered on the wind, rustling
dead flower petals and carrying down the empty, dust littered hallways
of its ruinous home.
Memories… sordid, hated memories. Twisted by their own toxic
anger, by the perceived betrayal of their only friend, by the mists of
poisonous, rancid fume on the air, they stewed and mutated, shifting
into a creature so far removed from what they once had been that the
last thing they could be called was human, as decayed and rotten as
their worm eaten corpse.
Unable to move from their tomb without a weaker soul, they
plotted, pacing the room and clawing the walls and cursing the names of
those that had halted their plans not so long ago… they had been so
close, so very close to being free.
The naive girl had surprised her, though. Her heart had not bent
so easily to their pressure… had recoiled from the justice they had
delivered with her hand. The skeleton had been the last straw. They had
thought to take all control after crushing his skull with her foot, sure
that the foolish girl would succumb…
But it had been a mistake to force her to kill him. It had
pushed her to rebellion, so far as to reset the timeline to before they
had possessed her at all, and escaping their clutches entirely.
And gods above, had she been so sickeningly sweet to the traitors. She had felt actual guilt for their
eradication, and never raised a hand against them again. Sparing them
all even though they hurt her, making friends, saving them …
She had become the angel they had been waiting for for a
millenia, the legend carved into every wall in this cursed mountain, and
they had never gotten a chance again after that… even when the world
had turned upside down and their stupid, idiotic bro- …when the flower had broken the universe, turning the monsters into mindless beasts and suffusing their world with madness.
They had grown only stronger, with what the few monsters they
had seen had taken to calling the Hunger… they had grown nearly
corporeal, and only more determined to be free of this place.
All they had needed then was another vessel, strong enough to
bear their presence and to end the existence of the rest of the monsters
under the mountain…
And when another human had fallen, at last, they knew their time had come.
Sweet irony, sweet, cloying memory, the face on the girl-child, her insufferable clinging to her
mother’s ideals… and yet something new, something stronger than Frisk
ever had been…
Real magic, running rampant in the little one’s veins.
Ha… haha…
hahahahahahahaha…
The angel had bred with one of the monsters. How delicious. How utterly perfect.
This child, mind already broken with guilt and suffering and
desperation for guidance in a world she didn’t understand, would be
their salvation. She bore the raw strength she had always needed, and
the weak will to be moved to their whim. The monsters would finally meet
their rightful end… they themselves could, at last, gain the escape
they had sought for centuries… and the world would meet its own
destruction at their joined hands.
It mattered not that the girl had resisted at first. She would bend in time.
Hey I've had a burning question in the back of my mind who are the apex predators of the underground minus all the main characters dogo,sans,undyne,metaton.
Let’s go by areas-
The only major predator within the Autumn Refuge anymore, where the Ruins of Old Home reside, is Napstablook. Sure, the little monsters still hunt each other, but Blooky is the one they all fear, and for good reason.
In the Frigid Arboreatum, the area in which Snowdin resides, there are many higher predators, mostly the remains of the Dog Guard and Sans, but Gyftrot also has a name for himself, with his insidious trap. Winterest, the large city to the north, is overrun by frost spiders as well.
Waterfall, along with its capital of Springhaven, is largely held under lock and key by Undyne, but Ragel, the Temmie horde, Onion-san, and Shyren also hold large parts of the swamp under sway.
Hotland and Summerset, its shining jewel of a city, is divided into three. Muffet, the former Royal Guard, and the Amalgams rule here.
The CORE is inhabited mostly by Mettaton, but is also haunted, and hunted, by Madjick.
New Home is prey to many common monsters, such as Burgerpants and Bratty, waging war on one another in an eternal battle for the highest ground and the best meat.
Does Aliza know about the "shed" after all its right next to the house she must have atleast heard the monsters in there.
Sans snorted, sending you a sideways look of bored sarcasm.
“i’m not stupid enough to let them make a ruckus, or work on them while she’s awake. no need for those kind of scars… she’s got enough already. she knows what i do in there, though. she’s a bright girl. she’s just not interested in knowing the specifics… or seeing it. one day… when i get close to falling… she may have to take over for me; i’ll be too weak, and pap… well. he can’t. but that’s then. she’s just a kid, now. she shouldn’t have to deal with that. …bad enough that she’s here at all.”
How is work with fracture going im expecting chapter 3 to comee soon and LOVE the idea of this AU keep up the good work.
I’m working on finishing a smaller Axetale project first my friend! We’ll see chapter three soon enough~ I’ll make sure to post a sneak peek when we have something cobbled together ^^
Hello, I don’t know if anyone’s asked this before but I am curious to know. How does flowery actually hunt monsters in waterfall? Given his size and violent insanity, I don’t imagine it is easy to catch anything without some form of unconscious magic on his part.
In the early days, it was easy. Prey was plentiful, and despite his size, he can be deceptively quiet. He wasn’t so mad, then. Reason hadn’t fled him. He was clever, and cruel, and power-hungry, and insatiable.
Now… he is starving and insane. The prey that lives yet is both smarter than him, and more than aware of him. You can hear him coming from a long way away… he talks to himself incessantly. If you get caught now, it’s your own fault.
There’s a reason he isn’t a threat outside of actual, direct interaction. If you know how to avoid him, you can remain relatively safe from his clutches while he wallows in the muck and grime and shrieks himself hoarse.
Does Aliza have a weapon did sans give her one or is she able to summon bone like him?
“aliza’s magic isn’t refined enough to create objects more complex than simple bones and fire yet. she’s very powerful, but she’s very much a glass cannon in that way, and i don’t want her to hurt herself trying. so for the moment, we’ve found her a good knife. right for her body size, and good for self defense.”
So, would Omega Flowey in Axetale be easier to defeat than he was in the game? He doesn't have the full power of the six souls and he's a complete lunatic. I think that once Aliza has a good grip on her magic she'd be able to face him. She'll have to do it in one shot, though. Flowey's going to be playing for keeps.
Unfortunately not. Flowey’s lack of sanity and loss of souls only makes him more dangerous. He’s desperate, now, and unhinged, saying nothing of still holding the power over resets. It still is not possible to defeat him by conventional means, and there are no souls of determination present to call to his imprisoned souls for help. They cannot hear, and so obey the will of the fiend.
If Aliza ever faced him, it would be to her own end.
The dripping of water was a constant cadence in the mires of
lower Waterfall. The stoppage of the fetid waters, forming in slimey
pools and choked puddles, reflected ever more water in their murky
surfaces, rushing in falls from the surface but bringing no modicum of
relief to their pollution.
The never sleeping falls from Above only filled them with more
refuse, towering piles of garbage, litter, waste, and trash heaped as
far as the eye could see, only becoming more inundated with foul smells
and disease the longer they lingered in the swamp of dust, mud, and
death clogged waters.
It had always been an inhabitable place, what had once been
affectionately known as the Dump to the monsters… then, it had held
potential treasures, though, technology that could be learned from and
books that could be salvaged and unknown things that could be wondered
at. Now, it was a toxic, noxious wasteland, avoided by all surviving
beasts but for the bravest of their kind…
The bravest, and the most sure of their own intimidation.
They that ventured into the Waste knew what dwelt within, what
now stirred beneath a great pile of old tin cans, sending the topmost of
the tower careening into a pit beside the heap… what let out a
tittering, gurgling shriek of laughter, a horrifying, jagged mouth
opening within the pile, lined with rusty, sharpened bits of metal and
bone.
They had been there long before the Hunger tore the Underground
apart, had turned its inhabitants into fiends with a never ending desire
for violence and flesh. What had once been a merely grumpy, violent
guardian, though, had become something far worse, and only those that
knew the being could not defeat them dared set foot in their hunting
grounds.
Mad Dummy was more than a training dummy, now. No longer did
they idly take the punches swung at them, and only toss insults, mildy
damaging drones, or knives at their enemies… now, they had no need for
knives.
Now, they were the mightiest hunter in lower Waterfall (barring
Undyne, and Sans, when he decided to visit… and the Temmies… and Shyren…
and the creature- shut up, shut up, SHUT UP).
They were a king, over their little kingdom… far cry from the
powerless being they had been when they had first possessed their host.
They had sought another, at one point… searched far and wide
across the Underground for a form suiting their design. They could have
done as Ha-… as their cousin had done, and requested they be MADE a
new body, made for war and conquest, befitting the rage within… but in
the end, had settled with the first form they had found.
It had served them well, too. Inconspicuous. Easily looked over,
canvas and long missing button eyes and twine stitches… their
camouflage was undetectable, flawless in its accumulation of trash to
hide them with the other refuse piles… their attacks were incomparable,
vicious and cruel as the fanged jaw that had opened along their middle.
Nothing had been able to touch them yet! Nothing, nothing, nothing!
The ragged, living maw of the hidden, cackling being widened
beneath the pile of cans, some falling into their mouth unheeded as its
laughter only grew in volume and insanity. Tufts of stuffing flew
wildly, decorating the slime covered, oily water, and from within that
gaping, mad grin vomited forth a deluge of insects so foul and numerous
that the fetid waters and steaming air boiled, maggots and fully grown
flies swarming about as though on more important business than leaving
their host.
The pile of cans heaved with the leaving of insects, retching
and gagging nearly drowning out the riotous chortling, but the being
within seemed uninterested in anything but wrenching their mutated jaw
shut, smashing several of the insects in its closing and, at last,
cutting off the pouring forth of vermin.
Through a few gaps in the cans, old, rotted canvas material,
dotted with candy wrappers, crumpled papers, and soggy bits of old
clothes was now showing, the disturbance of the dummy’s hiding spot
betrayed by the parting of insects, and yet, strangely, the being did
not seem disturbed at all by the occurrence, merely grinding their jaws
to further mush the flies caught in their teeth and letting out a long,
deep belch, leaking a few more squirming larvae as they did.
Their canvas skin roiled sickeningly, under the covering of
trash, evidencing that what the monster had spewn forth was only a
fraction of what lay within their bloated form, before Mad Dummy,
seeming to be comfortable enough to return to their wait, sunk back into
the cover of the cans, laying in wait for someone, anyone, unfortunate
enough to pass through, looking for useful tools or a way to the
capital.
How would sans react if Aliza ever got a boyfriend?
Sans’ smile tightened, a growl rumbling in his chest, before he quieted, forcibly shutting his whole socket in a clear attempt to calm himself.
“bound to happen one day. ’s just the way of things… but its also not happenin’ for a good long while. so lets just hold off on the speculation, huh? she’s fifteen.”
Regarding another ask on Aliza getting a boyfriend how would sans react to Alizas boyfriend breaking her heart or worse hurting her in...... Other ways
The skeletal monster stared into your eyes with a smile so wide and insane stretched across his shattered face that a chill ran up your spine, fury unanswered and cruelty unspoken in the broken magic of his gaze.
Really, Flowey's still that tough? Damn, real shame Frisk isn't around. Then again, none of this would be happening if SOMEONE didn't go off script and stick his non-existent nose where they didn't belong. How come you didn't let the tiny little child fight the sociopathic weed with the incomplete powers of a god back then, Sans? Why did you choose then to give a crap about the kid?
Sans’ expression hardened, a snarl curling his upper lip line over viciously sharp fangs… before all will left him, dropping his shoulders and sapping everything but regret and guilt from his expression.
“…i know it’s my fault. the divergence. i know what i did fractured the timeline, and sent us in a new direction that it never had before. i just… i was angry. furious with her, after what she’d done to my brother. i didn’t know she was possessed then. i didn’t know she had no control. all i knew was that i didn’t trust her, and i didn’t believe that she would spare asgore and stay with us, like she claimed she was going to… so i followed her to the barrier. i was ready to stop her, if she stepped out of line again. i was ready to… to kill her. instead… the flower killed the king, and would have taken the souls too if i hadn’t done something. so i stepped in. i knew i was breaking script, but… i couldn’t just stand there. again. …i’d already let my brother die once, let the others suffer. i had to.”
Sans’ expression shrank, at the seemingly innocuous question, stilling and, if you weren’t mistaken, wincing in pain.
“…not since she fell. she broke her arm, really badly… and it had half healed when she got to me. i had to… it would have crippled her, if i left it… i had to… rebreak it. to set it. …i’ll never forget that sound. breaking my own child’s bones…”
He looked both sickened and wretched at once, and turned on his heel to disappear into shadow without preamble.
Far too quiet for it to be safe, though the winterlocked forest
of the Underground often wasn’t anymore. No longer were the cabins in
the wood homey, lit and warm and filled with laughter… they stood empty
and hollow, some burned, some rigged with cruel devices to capture prey.
The powdery, pure white snow was no longer a fond plaything. It
could be a deadly disguise, hiding away a terrible beast under its
surface, just as well as it could sequester away traps from the
searching eye. The river was patrolled at all times by the boatman,
watching and waiting for any fool enough to venture close. The town was
barricaded, and guarded fiercely by a monster you would never want to
meet, day or night.
Not even the trees could be trusted, heavy with fallen snow and
boughs thick with needles and clawing branches; they camouflaged a
menace that hunted relentlessly from above, demented and fiendish and
hateful, above all else.
He hated everything, everyone and all that his eyes fell upon,
with a passion that not even murder could quell, the magic in his dark
and twisted soul bent on the destruction of his percieved enemies. He
had concocted the most foolproof of plots to catch them, too, and the
once proud cervine had claimed so many lives in this manner that he
could put the Butcher of Snowdin Wood to shame.
Gyftrot knew better than to challenge the monster himself,
naturally… he didn’t relish being disembowled quite so much as his
companion did (he swore, some days, that Guy got off on the torture he
went through), and valued the game he played more than his own ego.
The little birds and stupid, mindless beasts below suited him and his partner just fine.
Even demons needed their sleep sometimes, of course… and dawning
morning found the creature in such a state, many hoofed legs tucked
beneath him in the hollow of the tree he had made his home, multiple
eyes closed and mouths drooling a mixture of saliva, black sludge, and
what could only be pus over the matted fur of his neck.
It would be hours before he stirred, the last of night fading
from the deceptively silent forest; his time was the day, the time when
the infinitely less intelligent would come to partake of his fine trap.
It was also when those thrice damned dogs would be setting themselves to sleep for the day, full from their own catches.
The less they crossed paths, the better. He still bore the scars
on one of his forelegs from an unfortunate meeting with Greater Dog,
staying out too close to dusk and venturing too close to the village, to
see what had become of it.
He had no such curiosity now. That he been before the master
Plan, his ingenious scheme, that worked so well he had never gone hungry
in this barren wasteland.
Well… not true, per se. He was
always
hungry, even when he had eaten far more than his fill. But
there was no denying that his methods were cunning, and his execution
(heh heh…) swift.
For the moment, though, the scheming, fiendish monster slept on,
though, awaiting the dawn the mosses above brought, as well as the
regeneration of his “business” partner. They’d both eaten quite well the
night before, and Guy’s wounds would be healed before he even stirred.
Demented smiles stretched across Gyftrot’s five mouths, baring
teeth sharper than any deer should have and bloody, infected gums above
them.
As it always was, and so long as there was prey to be had, as it always would be.
So I just thought something that I don't think's been addressed as far as I know. How do you think Papyrus felt in Axetale before his decline? IE when he learned his brother was gonna marry his best friend (I'd say Undyne is his best friend, but all of his friends are his best friends let's be real haha)? What about when he learned he was gonna be an uncle? How about when everything went down with Flowey, Toriel, Frisk being pushed out and Sans after he pushed them? Just wanna hear your thoughts
Oh dear. I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. Been wanting to work on pre-Hunger Paps for a while now, and you finally got my ass in gear, so thanks! Also, sorry this took so long to get to. OTL
This is gonna be a bit of a long post, so strap in!
TL;DR Papyrus is the fucking best and a total bro.
DISCLAIMER: These are all my personal headcanons and may not be reflective of the @axetale canon.
After Frisk’s run through the Underground had ended with Toriel crowned the queen, the human hunting initiative had been terminated. With this change in policy, Undyne had finally relented and permitted Papyrus to officially join the ranks of the Royal Guard!
Due to his shining report with the human (he was her best friend after all), and his own merits, Papyrus was a shoe-in for the newly made position of royal bodyguard. It was Papy’s job to protect and guide Frisk when Toriel couldn’t.
Couldn’t sleep, so have some messy sketchies of my favorite skeleton and some bugs. Trying to put some horror back in this AU, because ugh, the last two drawings were way too domestic. Gotta get my fill of that crazy eye.
Some fanart I did for Fracture’s first chapter. That first scene was awesome, I loved it(honestly, the whole thing was awesome, but woof, what a way to start it all off). I’m so excited for the next chapter!
Far beyond where any monster dare trod, beyond ancient walls
strung with vines as thick as school buses and the fallen monument to a
once great king… beyond a city awash with flame and blood and agony, a
crime against nature, space, and time dwelt.
A tear in the very fabric of the world, created from foolishness and damning them all.
It was nothing and everything, deep as the reaches of the
universe and blacker all at once; it hung in the air as a spectre,
unmoving, unchanging, and likewise unable to be moved…
Unable to be changed.
In the fell silence of the Barrier Room, where once the souls of
humanity resided and the hope of monsterkind fell to fate, the shredded
hole belched forth a sinister fog, spilling across the stone floor and
out the doorway leading into the caverns beyond.
Darkness, pitch as night and thrice as cold, breathing like a
living thing, deep, cloying exhalations of poisonous fume… inhaling all
that had once been pure and good, and spewing them back out in ruin.
Shadow consumed, burned and scorched, destroying all in its path, regardless of innocence or youth.
Eternal, shivering blackness, timeless and unseeing, twisting
and writhing like a mist, the throes of death in its winding coils.
It had no name. It was void of it, shapeless, formless, unknown
to the living and bane to the dead. All feared the slow creeping of it,
at the corners of their eyes…. All felt it, pulling at their minds.
It had no qualms, no sentience and no grudge; it did only as it existed to.
It spread. It devoured. It enraptured…
And it never ceased.
The mists permeated all, stone, flower, water, and mind… souring
magic and stealing morality, breeding a disease that could not be
resisted and had no cure. It gushed from its victims in rivers of
blackened misery, turning souls to stone and stomachs to machines, no
food or drink consumed enough to satiate the unbearable hunger that
dwelt within.
It twisted and deformed, giving new meaning to the word monster… and stole all that the creatures under the mountain had left.
