Horrortale : Rotten apple | Horrortale AU

Chapter 2 : Fallen angel

Frisk was running. They were hitting the slopes as fast as they legs could hold them, avoiding in their rush the branches and stones that could have make them fall. They had to go back to the city, find help and go back to the Mountain as soon as possible. They felt guilty they had to leave without warning at least Sans or Alphys. At the end of their fight against Flowey, they knew they couldn't go back. With Asgore dead, no one would have trust him. They had to prove themself and get help. This was the last thing they could do now.

Only reassurance, this time, Frisk was not alone. To pass the Barrier, they had no more option that absorb the King's soul. As a side effect of this operation, Asgore's ghost was now following him, able to talk in his head just like Chara. The two phantoms were still celebrating their reunion, even if that's certainly wasn't the way the old monarch imagined them. Frisk didn't have the time yet to apologize to him for what happened. It didn't seem to bother Asgore anyway. With the King help, Frisk hoped they could free the Monsters once and for all.

However, when the city appeared in their sight, Frisk slowed gradually down, as a dull anguish took over their own soul. There was something they didn't predict in their last hope plan : here, in the middle of humanity, Frisk was no one. Even worst, they were unwanted. They stopped at the edge of the forest and stood still for a while, watching what was in front of them. The kid felt a presence behind him and turned their head to them. Chara took back their ghost form, with their eternal green and yellow sweater. They was not alone anymore. Asgore was next to them, floating a few inches above the ground.

"Why are we stopping ?" asked Chara. "Frisk ! There's no time to loose !"

"I... I know, but..." They took a breath. "Here, that's not the Underground, Chara. There is a reason I came to get lost on Mont Ebott. And that reason is that... I'm not Frisk here. At the orphanage, the nuns... They never wanted to call me that. And since I struggle, they decided I was an unrecoverable case and wanted to sacrifice me to their God or something. I ran away the day they locked me up and then... Well, you already know what's next."

Chara stayed silent for a bit before they smiled at them. Asgore, horrified, looked down, also silent. Still disturbed by his new condition, he still had difficulties to understand that the kid has been guiding by his dead child this all time, and was now discovering that the Surface was not a nice place either. It was a lot to take in, even for him. Chara stepped forward and poked Frisk cheek in an attempt to cheer them up.

"I know what it does to feel different among your own people." they said with a softer voice. "There's also a reason I climb the Mountain. But for now, what matters is that everyone is counting on us. Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys... And even that damn ugly comedian and his awful jokes. We already walked a long way you and I, you have to succeed where I didn't. Save them. For me. For Dad."

"They're right", interrupted Asgore. "You can't give up just yet, Frisk. You are the hope of my people."

Frisk bites their lips and nodded. They were right. They were not here for him but for monsterkind. After all, if they had to listen to themselves, they would have stay under Mont Ebott forever, even if it meaned to die there. But the monsters didn't bear the imprisonment anymore, they're had enough to undergo their daily similar life and was now only dreaming of freedom, even more since Frisk fell. The desire to save them and to fight for a right cause filled their soul with determination. After a last gaze for the huge mountain behind them, Frisk walked hesitantly towards the city.

The town was terribly deadpan. After all they discovered under Mont Ebott, the old concrete buildings seemed dull, boring and sad. It was still early, almost seven o'clock of the morning, Frisk learned while looking at the big clock which surmounted the town hall, and still, the traffic was already important. The cars were driving without caring of this lonely child, even if, times to times, one insistent gaze meet theirs. There was plenty reasons to worry about them anyway, Frisk didn't look good. Their pants were torn below their knees, one of their sweater sleeves hung miserably, open in two parts, and they had huge bags under their eyes. The Underground's trip had left some traces.