Underdoom - Chapter 23

Flowey clambered through the rubble left behind by the Hell Walker. Fear mingled with anticipation as he beheld the Praetorian’s handiwork. That much raw power was not to be trifled with. For what little he had heard or knew, he took immense caution. Demons were one thing, and one determined child was another, but a man who could plow through hellish hordes and go on to smash in a wall with his shoulder was a whole new ball game. As he approached the entrance to the now ruptured conduit, he made sure every slithering step remained silent, taking not of any loose rubble that would give even the slightest hint of his position.

He could feel something dragging him down and looked back to see what was clinging to one of his tendrils, raising it up somewhat to get a better look.

Flowey cringed at the grimy piece of demonic flesh wetly clinging to one of his roots: a strip of muscle or perhaps a shredded intestine.  “Ugh…” He flung it away in disgust before pressing forward.

Much as he was tempted to pull a few trademark “games” with the Praetor, he managed to suppress his urges. His determination was not only overshadowed by that of the Doom Slayer, but it was pointed in a slightly different direction. That sword of his was more important than what any potentially fruitless games could yield. If he could not persuade himself with nonexistent compassion he could persuade himself with reason.

He could persuade himself with determination.

Every stone brought him closer to that blade. The darkness was near impenetrable in the old conduit, but he was not dissuaded. The Ghoul’s explanations only added fuel to his fire.

“A realm on the very edge of all time…”

‘There’s reason human souls remain in our time for so much longer…”

Those words made him wonder. As much as he denied it, he was still Asriel… or was he? His soul was not destroyed. It was simply sent away.

When he played that one last “game” with Frisk, what happened? Those souls were his. He was himself again, wasn’t he? In fact, he was himself again for quite a while afterward, but why? What did those souls do? They couldn’t remake him, they couldn’t simulate him, or what parts of him had been lost. His soul, his actual soul, had come back, if only for a little while.

The unanswered questions set his footsteps ablaze. He scrambled through the tunnel towards the next faint point of light, a scarlet glimmer that seemed a lifetime away. He could hear noise coming from up ahead: the shore party had probably run into more demons. All the better. They wouldn’t hear his quickening pace scurrying through the wet, viscera soaked gravel that lined the old conduit.

The Flower finally reached the bend, and craned around it a little to see the source of the clamor. He knew well hat Toriel and Asgore could do, and their combined fire magic, sweeping about the room in flaming tendrils searing anything in their path, did little to impress him. Though interesting, Gaster’s use of… whatever that black stuff was did not tickle his fancy and VEGA’s armament, though imposing, was little more than what he had seen Mettaton do.

It was then that he saw it, a little further off to his left, catching his eye with a bright flash. The man in green, holding one of those beasts by its throat. It struggled for just a moment before the marine disemboweled it, running it through before flinging its dying body off his blade. Three more tried swarming him, but all were cut down like grass before the mower’s sickle with one fell swoop of the man’s glowing sword. He leapt and bounded across the room in a display of unparalleled agility. From each of the broken columns standing in the middle of the room to the catwalks above and around the room’s perimeter, he strode to and fro with a sort of violent grace, mowing down the lesser beasts with a shotgun in one hand and bifurcating anything that came too close with impunity.

Flowey was not sure if he was feeling jealousy or admiration. Memories of his old life, idolizing old heroes in comics and tall tales, came flooding back to him. He almost felt like a child again watching this man go about, dispatching those evil beasts with ease. Part of him wished to join in on the action, yet his better judgement restrained him. There was no telling how this man would react to him, and the last thing he needed was for either the man’s boot crushing him, or for those idiots….

His parents….

To find and catch him.

It was all over in a matter of moments. Flowey hid betwixt the partially organic tubing that lined the walls. They left, and though he made sure to keep tabs on them, he took a second to feel the tubing, composed of what felt like cartilage and bone and rock. It felt empty, like it hadn’t been used, yet it hadn’t rotted away yet. They had only been recently vacated. Curious a matter as it was, the Flower dismissed it, and followed the others into the next passageway.

The others could not see him. He needed to see the man in green alone. He knew well enough, and felt well enough despite his inability to love, that killing them would not serve him well once he became Asriel again.

The Flower paused for a moment under the doorway. It dawned on him how odd It was to think of such things so coldly and so clinically.

He got over it and pressed on.

He had to find a way to separate them.

Closer and closer he crept until he could hear them again. More of that tubing lined the corridors, giving him somewhere to hide while he listened in. Their voices were muffled to mere whispers. He needed to get closer. They had paused by an azure doorway. The man in green stood by with a similarly colored skull in hand. On and on, the Flower crawled along the fleshy conduit until they were almost close enough to touch. Now their voices were clear. Asgore was speaking. His hushed words caught Flowey’s ears.

“He was brought back with DT, according to Dr. Alphys.”

“Well, not fully.” Toriel stepped aside to let the Doom Slayer pass. He inserted the skull into a central indentation in the door, and it exploded in a flash of blue light before the door began to open, spinning and grinding on dry stone. “It brought part of him back.”

“Yes, something about his soul not being there?” Gaster stepped close to the slowly opening door. Arcs of blue energy sparked in the spiked fissure.

“Yes… “ Asgore’s tone was hushed and sullen. “I was wondering if DT could bring him back? You said it was what binds humans to our realm for so long… perhaps Alphys did not use enough of it?”

“I have yet to find out everything from Dr. Alphys experiments, but you did cite her use of DT on dying monsters and the rather… unpleasant results that followed. DT will not be enough, no.”

The Flower looked inside the now opened room. Once again, it was dark, but even more so now than before. There was no glimmer of blood or anything else to indicate what lay inside. Soon as the Doors were opened all the way, the man in green quietly walked inside. He did not seem to want to hear anything the Doctor or the King and Queen had to say anymore.

The old Doctor looked in and heard nothing. The sound of the Praetor’s footsteps got quieter and quieter. Palpable dread washed over him anew. “Our friend won’t wait. We must follow.”

“You’ve been very forlorn, Doctorr.” Toriel looked him over as he tried to conceal his gloom. “I don’t suppose this has more to do with what the Doom Slayer is up to?”

“Tori, let’s not-“

“Let’s just go.” He disappeared into the darkness.

The other two looked on with worried scrutiny before entering themselves.

The Flower tried to creep in and follow them, but no sooner did they step foot inside than did the door slam shut behind them. He looked all around. There had to be another way in. his eyes scurried in every direction until they landed again on the tubing, which continued through the wall ahead and into the now sealed room. He felt them with his tendrils, noticing the way the cartilage gave under pressure. That was his ticket in. Each rubbery ring was separated by some sort of flimsy connective tissue. Within seconds, he had broken them apart, and was tunneling through the fleshy network.

“Great… can’t see a thing in here. Vega, can you light the way?”

Toriel turned to see his glowing optics facing her. “Sadly, no. When I first occupied this body, my objective was to trim down as many superfluous features possible. I can detect no real lighting functions, and if this chassis indeed had any, I might have gotten rid of them already.”

“Hold on…” With a flick and a rushing sound of kindling flame, a small sphere of fire magic lit up in the palm of Asgore’s hand. “Tori, go ahead and light yours up. We’ll need all we can get down here.”

“Right.”

As arcane flame sprouted from Toriel’s hands VEGA ran another diagnostic on his targeting systems. “Wait a minute… I believe this cannon should be able to provide enough light if I redirect power from several sources. Here, I won’t be needing the flight batteries just about yet.” White light came forth from his arm, which pointed down a smooth, stone ground. It appeared to run in somewhat of a single pathway; VEGA’s light cut off at what seemed to be the edge of an elevated walkway. Some old bloodstains could be seen dotted wherever the AI shined his light

“Strange…”

The Doom Slayer looked on, felt the Crucible and Siphon at his hip, and decided he wasn’t going to go off borrowed light. The weapons came off his belt with an audible click.

Gaster heard and gasped just a little. “Wait, no! Don’t use those! They give off just enough argent energy to-!”

The miniscule patches of light offered by the others was overpowered by the blood red luminescence coming from the Marine’s weapons. The pathway was now clear, though any and all signs of blood were overpowered by the bright scarlet. The Crucible awoke what latent energy remained in the conduit, setting the room ablaze with crimson light. Shadow clung to the edges of every form in the room, including what looked like continuous cobbled stonework that lined the irregularly shaped walls, which seemed to stretch on forever.

Some began to shift a little.

Gaster froze.  “Dear God….”

The “stones” faced the shore party.

They were people. Bleeding, withered, people, all stuck permanently to those walls by bindings of rancid flesh and stringy sinew. They were silent for a moment as they rose from their shivering prostration to set their hollow eyes on the shore party.

And they began to scream

A million hands sprouted up into the air, all convulsing, all twitching, all reaching towards the shore party. A million screams pierced the humid, iron smelling air. They took no breaths. Their long maws were stuck open, an ear-splitting, gargling shriek escaping their croaking throats. A million souls, all imprisoned, all eternally tortured, reaching out, pleading the others to join them.

The old Doctor shouted above the wretched wailing. “EVERYONE RUN! RUN FOR THE DOOR!!”

A scream lodged itself in Toriel’s throat. It erupted from her as Asgore suddenly yanked her by the arm, running for the distant exit, VEGA and Gaster close behind. On and on they ran through a gauntlet of miserable madness, the air itself shaking with the sound of a million tortured cries.

“DON’T LET THEM TOUCH YOU!” Gaster could barely find the breath to speak with as he ran. “KEEP MOVING!”

Everyone ran.

They all ran as fast as they ever could. The Doom Slayer tried to cover his ears as he went, tried to shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand the sound or the sight any longer, but nothing could relieve him. Their faces were burned into his sight, their cries rang ceaselessly in his ears. The ringing, the shrill, deafening, ringing was the worst. It got louder and louder until the Praetor was sure his ears would gush blood. His teeth gritted as the pain nearly brought him to his knees. Every drop of blood in him ran cold. He was slowing down. The others were overtaking him.

All vision became blurry as the rest of the group raced ahead of the ailing Praetor. Everything melted into the same, horrible sight. Their faces were everywhere. In the corners of the visor, behind his eyelids, even the very recesses of the Hell Walker’s psyche. Nothing could be hidden from their mind-bending gaze - their horrible, eyeless, miserable gaze. The world was spinning all around him and It wouldn’t stop. His legs grew weaker and weaker as everything began to ebb and flow in and out of view. Everything shook as the screams intermingled with the ringing. In the distance, he could see the others calling out for him, but their voices were utterly drowned out. Strength had failed. Every tormented cry brought back another memory. Every emaciated face, for a split second, became someone familiar. That was enough to finally bring the Slayer to his knees. He could fight it no longer. He tried to cover his ears, dropping his weapons and clasping the sides of his helmet. His breath fogged up the visor in panicked hyperventilation. The greatest of his past sins had finally caught up to him. He should have listened to Gaster and went around another way. He should have declined the offer made to him on that terrible day. He should have killed Hayden when he had the chance.

He shouldn’t be here. Yet he was. There was no way out now.

Gone was the strength in his legs. Gone was the might in his arms. Gone was the valor of his soul.

He hunched over and prepared for the end: the ultimate price for his ultimate iniquity.

“NO!” Toriel tried rushing back to aid the fallen Praetorian before she felt Asgore’s hand clasp her wrist.

“Tori, we can’t stay here!!” Asgore strained as he tried lifting the heavy stone gate with his remaining free hand, VEGA and Gaster just barely managing to move the massive door themselves.

“Neither can he!”

The King looked back and saw their friend hunching over as the screaming damned reached out for him. Toriel was right. He gritted his teeth and released her. “Come back quickly! We need all the muscle we can get!”

Without hesitation, she raced back towards the nearly prostrate man. Looking back as she ran she could see he was about a few dozen meters from the door, at least as long as the throne room.

She shook him by the shoulders but he wouldn’t budge. The arms got closer. Some of them were trying to clamber over the edge of the pit, trying to escape their fleshy bonds. She could hear them scratching, clawing their way up, finger bones grinding against the roughhewn stone.

“Please! Please! You must get up! They’re going to take us all! We can’t stay here!” Tears began to accompany her pleas as convulsing faces began to peek out from over the ledge.

She knelt down and embraced him tightly, hoping in all desperation to shake him out of his stupor. “Please…”

Suddenly, his eyes shot back up at her. She jumped back as she saw the maddening horror that filled them. His hands were shaking. The whites of his eyes were utterly bloodshot. They shut tightly, and he grimaced as he slowly got back up on his feet. His legs had barely enough power to keep him upright, and he stumbled a little as he got back up

Toriel held the Marine up somewhat as he righted himself. “Come on, the exit is right there…”

He looked up and saw it again. This time it actually seemed to be in reach. His first steps forward were hobbled, but the more he looked at the door, the more he could feel vitality refilling his weary extremities. Faster and faster he ran until the door was nearly in reach. Toriel let go of him as he sped up, on and on until they were nearly there.

Then, the Scourge’s eyes widened in horror.

The Crucible and the Siphon. He could not leave them behind.

He ran back and sped towards them.

“No! Where are you going?!” Gaster cried out after the Marine as he sped back to where the damned were crawling.
VEGA scanned his destination. “It’s his weapons! He won’t leave without them!”

The tortured were reaching out for the Crucible and Siphon. Their fingers were just barely brushing up against them.

Oh no you don’t.

The Doom Slayer dove down and swiped his weapons from the hands of the tormented souls who now renewed their efforts to bring him in with them. He took what was his, lathed them onto his belt, and did not look back. He felt numb now. Numb to everything. The ringing had become silence, and the only thing he could hear among the constant screaming of the damned and the call of his comrades was his own breath, echoing rhythmically in his helmet.

Then, a cracking noise.

The floor beneath him collapsed. A great section of the path split longitudinally from behind and in front of the Doom Slayer. The aft end sank down, creating a steep downward incline into the pit. The marine slipped down into the fleshy, writhing pit. He grabbed at the stone, but the souls in the gutter had already taken hold of him, steadily pulling him down in with them.

It can’t end like this

Not when I’m so close….

He thrashed about, kicking his pained captors while clawing at the stone path, leaving marks as he was slowly dragged down. The stone sparked and screeched in protest as his metal fingers dug in and set loose sparks on their way down. Hands made their way up his legs, then his torso, and now, some were covering his face. He tried pulling them away, but with every hand he pried from his helmet, five more grasped his arms. He could resist them no longer. On and on they dragged him down until he could feel the stone under him no more. At last, he reached his right hand out, sticking up among many others, desperately reaching for something to hold onto.

It was over.

Suddenly, a searing heat bore down upon him. He could feel their hands loosing and falling away, their wailing intensifying with the heat. The hands covering his eyes were lifted, now somehow set ablaze. Their arms were loosed form his neck. He turned all around him and saw his captors now burning amidst a blazing inferno.

He looked up and saw Asgore with his hand outstretched.

 “JUMP!!”

Time froze for a moment. The Praetor’s eyes strained. Every sinew in his legs burned. Sweat greased the inside of the Praetor suit, and a stinging mixture of sweat and tears blurred all vision. He could feel the prisoners’ arms letting go of him, snapping away like fraying cords in a failing rope. Every loosening arm brought his ever higher. He squatted down a little. Everything in him ached, and his already blurred vision clouded further with tears as what little energy he could muster seemed to combust in his thighs and calves, sending him upward. He grabbed Asgore’s hand and with more teeth gritting, breath stealing strain than he had felt from the time he had re-awoken from his entombment, got back up on the platform.

On they ran for the door. The other three had their hands full of it, barely able to budge it farther than a few inches off the ground. Asgore and the Hell Walker joined in, and with enough strain to bring the Marine down to the depths of unconsciousness, the door was lifted open. Toriel, VEGA, and Gaster scrambled underneath as the remaining two held on, switched from one side of the door to another, and let go, letting the full weight of the stone slab crash down upon the floor, cracking it far and wide.

The screaming was muffled behind thick rock, but no one wanted to hear it anymore. Everyone scrambled a certain distance away to what looked like a breach in the wall leading to the outside. In a few moments time, they had cleared the opening, and those miserable cries could reach their ears no more.

They looked around past the breach and saw a clearing. Some sort of ritual was once performed here, perhaps to refine or somehow manage the Argent energy that once flowed through here. At the center was some sort of circular dais with a pentagram and multiple other runes engraved into its face. The whole room was circular, upheld by rocky pillars at least seven or more stories high. Chains and cages could be seen hanging from the ceiling. One wall was busted open, revealing a clear view of the inner citadel. Light from the bloodied sky poured in through the breach, filling the entire room. What they did not see was the tubing from the other part of the conduit that erupted in some places along the ceiling. There, from between some more cartilage and rock, the Flower quietly emerged.

He wondered to himself as he looked on the weary shore party. “What was all that noise? Must have been a whole lot of those demon things…”

He crept along the walls, taking care not to fall as he reached out for one of the cages. Its chain dangled lower than the others, and from here, he could listen in a little closer. Weaving his way through dusty old bones, he carefully dangled from the bottom bars of the cage, lowering himself as far as he could go so he could more clearly hear them.

“Where’s he headed off to?” Toriel wiped the sweat from her brow as the Praetor limped away to the other side of the room.

“Just let him be.” She turned upon hearing Gaster’s voice. “That was something very personal to him. That’s why I insisted we take a detour. Your majesty, we should not have seen that, much less him.”

“Who were they, Doctor?”

VEGA spoke up from behind them. “I saw the Argent Sigil when we entered.”

No one spoke a word.

“I think we all know who they were, Your Majesties.”

They heard a shuffling from the other side, and saw the Doom Slayer collapsed with his hands on his knees, facing the outside. His head was bowed. They could hear him slowly breathing, his inhaling and exhaling echoing slightly in the empty chamber.

Asgore sighed a little. “Well then, let’s just drop it. Everyone leave the Praetor alone for a moment.” He hunched over and sat down, taking a moment to catch his labored breath. “I think we all ought to rest for a minute. Just how far until we’ve reached the Crux, Doctor?”

“It is not afar off. I can see the Central tower from here. Can you see it, O King? Just out of the breach, ascending into the sky. We will be done soon enough. All of Hell will topple with the time crux. All our worries, about the invasion, about resets, about everything, will be gone with it… except of course-“

“Except for our son.”

“… yes, O Queen. We… we certainly cannot forget him. You did tell me about Dr. Alphys’ experiements. What did she tell you in detail?”

“She didn’t.” Asgore eyed over his bracer. “Not yet anyway.”