𝙉𝙮𝙭𝙚𝙧𝙖 ✧

The Despair of War

The sky darkened above the stadium as the sacred flame, the heart of Natlan’s strength and spirit, was consumed by an overwhelming pulse of abyssal energy.

Shadows snaked up its towering pyre, extinguishing the fire in one agonizing gasp.

In its place, a blackened symbol of despair appeared, swirling like a gaping wound in the heavens. From this jagged tear in the sky, dark portals opened, unleashing more abyssal creatures into the world below.

The air itself seemed heavy with sorrow and fear as monsters swarmed across the land like a plague, their eerie blue eyes glowing in the oppressive gloom.

“There are too many of them!” Kachina shouted, gripping her spear tight as she glanced at Frisk, desperation flickering in her eyes.
“Frisk—get out of here! Rescue as many people as you can!”

Frisk hesitated for just a moment, but the look in Kachina’s eyes brooked no argument.

They nodded, swallowed their fear, and leapt into the hot air balloon, untying the ropes with trembling hands.

As the balloon rose into the sky, Frisk looked back one last time.

Kachina stood firm among the flames and shadows, her spear blazing as she fought off wave after wave of abyssal creatures.

The balloon soared over Natlan, but as Frisk scanned the land below, a heavy sense of dread settled in their chest.

Everywhere they looked, the landscape was stained with death.

They spotted a village on the edge of the Scions of the Canopy’s forest, the place they had helped evacuate not long ago.

But now… it was silent.

Saurians that had once moved with powerful grace and loyalty lay still, their bodies scattered across the ground like broken statues.

Frisk steered the balloon lower, landing near one of the fallen beasts.

A jagged claw mark ran across the creature’s side, blackened veins creeping along its body.

Frisk knelt, placing a hand on the cold scales, and realized with horror that all the Saurians were dead.

Even the mighty beasts—companions of Natlan’s people—had fallen to the abyss.

But just as Frisk’s heart began to sink deeper, they heard a faint sound.
A soft, weak cry.

They ran toward the noise and found a small Saurian, barely the size of a child, huddled under the lifeless wing of a larger one—likely its parent.

The little creature whimpered, nudging at the dead Saurian with its snout, as if trying to wake it.

Frisk’s throat tightened.
“You’re safe now...” they whispered, gently cradling the small Saurian in their arms.

A few people from the village, wounded but alive, emerged from hiding and rushed to Frisk’s side.

“Take care of it.” Frisk pleaded, handing the tiny Saurian to them.

The villagers nodded, their faces pale with grief, but determined.
They would protect what little remained.

For Natlan.

Frisk returned to the balloon and rose once more into the dark sky, but the further they traveled, the worse the devastation became.