Rhinestone Cowboy; Revisited

	New Home was cold and silent, save for heavy footsteps sounded against the grey stone, the jingling of spurs echoing against the empty walls. A human boy was walking down the hallway past Asgore’s house, on his way to the castle entrance. On his head was a cowboy hat, and in his hand was an antique revolver. He flipped and spun the thing, opening the cylinder and closing it, testing the hammer, making sure that the firearm worked. Despite what was to come, his hands were surprisingly steady. He looked down at the gun, seeing the ornate carving of the handle and the detailed etching in the metal. It was cold and heavy, heavier than anything he’s ever carried.

	The underground feared it, and by extension they feared him. Mothers warned their youth to hide if they heard the boy coming. Some said that you could hear the ringing all the way to the barrier, others said that they never even heard a single shot go off. Even the guards were scared of him, backing away and setting down their weapons and turning tail as soon as they were found in his sights. He made his way to the throne room uncontested, not a single soul willing to face up against a weapon so mean.

	After what felt like years he stood under the massive doors of the castle. He took in a deep breath and held it, for it seemed that time was standing still. He spun the gun back into its holster and pushed the oaken doors open, revealing the sunlit room. It took him aback, the bright yellows nearly blinding him in their beauty as their caretaker sat amongst them, his watering can set down. Asgore was taking a sip of tea until the noise took his notice.

	The king turned to face the intruder, his smile turning into a calm look of horror. There was a crash as the tea cup fell from his fingers and hit the ground beneath it. A long silence formed as the two looked at each other, neither looking excited for what was to come.

	A feeling of absolute familiarity fell onto the boy as he looked Asgore up and down. He realized almost immediately his relationship with the monster in the ruins.

	“So,” he sniffed, his hand reaching for his belt, “you’re Asgore I take it.”

	Asgore attempted a soft smile, though it crumbled almost as soon as it formed. “Yes. That I am.”

	The yellow soul pulled his iron from the leather, spinning it in his finger until he aimed it at the monster. The gun shone in the sunlight that flittered from the roof. “I’m sorry to do this to ya, old man. But you’re in the way between me and ‘the surface’, and I really, really just want to get home.”

	“I… I’m sorry for this as well,” Asgore said, his hand pulling his trident from his robe, the polearm glowing a brilliant red. “I wish I could have offered you tea, but it seems that this isn’t the time. It-It was nice to meet you.”

	Tension hung in the air as the boy’s finger started to squeeze the trigger. The two stood for several seconds, though it felt like eternity. Asgore made the first move, lunging forward. Though his attack was swift, for the yellow soul it felt like ages as the trident moved towards him. Flashbacks to words etched on the dark walls and the sound of trickling water among luminescent flowers reminded him of what he had to do. Why he had to do it.

	His eyes clenched shut, and his finger pulled the trigger as hard as it could.

	And it clicked.

	The room went silent. It was perfectly still as darkness still filled the boy’s vision. It felt like minutes went by until finally he opened his eyes. He half expected to see his maker staring down at him, or just an absolute picture of dark as nothingness consumed him, but instead he saw the tip of Asgore’s trident. It was shaking, though Asgore’s grip held true. The king stood in silent agony, his eyes hidden from the boy but it was evident that tears were streaming from them. The summon clattered to the ground before it disappeared into red coloured swirls in the air. Asgore looking at the human. He saw fear in the eyes of the boy, though Asgore was not the cause of it.

	There was a stern sense of duty in front of the fear. The boy was obviously scared of all of the monsters he had seen, terrified for his life as he ran from one hiding place to the next, using this mean and cold look to scare off any monster that dared cross his path. The deadly six shooter was never loaded, the infamous iron just an intimidation tactic.

	“I see you called my bluff,” the boy said as he stood rigid, the revolver not shaking in his grip. “Figures as much.” Asgore watched him as the boy set the revolver back onto his hip before reaching a gloved hand behind his neck. “I tried to give you a little ease onto your conscious. That this one was self defence as much as it was necessary.”

	He took off his necklace, on it was a single bullet. Asgore’s eyes widened as the boy tugged it free from the leather band and loaded it into the cylinder. He pulled the hammer down with a click, and rested the barrel against his temple. The king wanted to cry out ‘No!’ but he knew it was too late. The boy spoke up again, “It was nice to meet you as well.

	“Sorry about this.”

	Yellow was stained red as the body crumpled to the ground. The bang was deafening, but the eery silence afterwards was gruesomely more so. Asgore would have winced and closed his eyes at the sharp and cacophonic sound, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had seen something similar five times before, but it never got easier how quickly they fell onto the ground. His whole body felt numb as he just looked at the boy, who’s half smile seemed to haunt him. A ethereal yellow soul rose from the corpse, Asgore taking it gingerly into his hands and setting it into the container.

	The king scooped the boy up into his arms, not even caring as his fur was turned red. Hot tears streamed down his face, though he barely even felt them as he walked towards the impromptu mausoleum where five other children lay. His footsteps were slow yet resolute, as he padded towards the room containing his sins. The gun clattered to the floor as he walked, the sound drawing Asgore’s attention. He looked down at the revolver, on it was a small engraving:

	“God bless the Reaper; for his job is the hardest.”