After defeating Asriel Dreemurr, A'malther retrieved his children's souls.
Asriel: While sobbing "I'm sorry, I'll... Put everything back at how it was... I'll get back to be a flower, and... Everything will be back to normal..."
A'malther didn't answer, just stared at Asriel, waiting for him to do it, and after a short moment, Asriel raised his arms, opened his hands, and everything flashed white.
A'malther then woke up in the room between the Throne room and the Barrier. When A'malther gets up and sit in the ground from laying down, his children instantly hug him. Asgore remains dead, Monsterkind had lost their king Asgore Dreemurr.
A'malther, his skeletal frame trembling faintly as his crimson eyes softened, rested his gauntleted hands on the backs of his children as they embraced him. His tone, though carrying its divine gravity, was laced with warmth and concern—a flicker of his fatherly nature shining through his cosmic demeanor.
A'malther: "Thou art safe now, my beloved progeny… Speak unto me, tell thy father of thy trials. How did thee endure this realm of shadowed souls? What was thy plight within these somber halls?"
The children exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from relief to somber contemplation. Velthara, ever the bold one, was the first to answer.
Velthara: "Father, the monsters… They were strange, desperate in their hopes, yet so fragile. Many sought kindness, but others, driven by instinct or despair, sought to harm us. It was… pitiful, to see them cling so fiercely to survival, knowing their king was doomed."
Lymtherion, his tone more analytical, stepped forward, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured.
Lymtherion: "The puzzles, the traps, their so-called defenses… primitive, disorganized. The creatures here lacked true strength or strategy, save for a few, like that warrior Undyne and the mechanical Mettaton. Yet, even they were but sparks in the dark. I expected… more."
Kaeltherion, his voice firm and tinged with disappointment, crossed his arms.
Kaeltherion: "Father, I sought worthy foes, challenges that might hone my blade. Yet, these monsters... They were no warriors, only shadows of courage. The one called Asgore? He carried strength, but it was weighed down by guilt. His death brought no honor, only silence."
Zalthirion, his tone thoughtful, placed a hand on his chin, his emerald-green eyes shimmering faintly.
Zalthirion: "Father, not all was as bleak as my siblings say. There were glimmers of… innocence. A flower that schemed and lied, but spoke of emptiness and loneliness. A motherly figure, Toriel, who showed care even when she doubted us. There was pain, yes, but also… something deeper. I cannot name it."
Syltheria, quieter than the others, clutched her arm and spoke softly, her voice tinged with unease.
Syltheria: "The monsters were… kind to me. Some smiled, others trembled, but their eyes weren't empty. They were scared, Father, of us, of their king, of everything. I think they wanted peace, but they didn't know how to find it."
Arthelion, ever the most curious, tilted his head, his golden locks shimmering faintly.
Arthelion: "I didn't understand their world, Father. It was… small, like a cage. They all wanted freedom but were afraid of what it might bring. Their songs, their hopes, even their anger—it felt… fleeting."
Nythara, her tone sharp but carrying a hint of reflection, gestured toward the now-empty Barrier.
Nythara: "It was pitiful, Father. Their king was weak, their hope broken, and their dreams naïve. And yet… they still fought, still believed. I don't understand why, but… I can't forget the way they looked at us. Not as enemies, but… something else."
A'malther, his crimson gaze scanning each of his children, exhaled deeply. His voice, though heavy with divine resonance, softened further as he spoke.
A'malther: "Thy words bring clarity to thy trials. This realm… 'tis as I expected—a shadowed echo of desperation, a mirror of frailty. Yet, I sense within thy words a deeper truth, one thou mayhap not yet comprehend. They sought freedom, even knowing its cost. 'Tis a plight unlike ours, boundless as we are."
His skeletal hands rested on the shoulders of the nearest of his children, his tone both gentle and resolute.
A'malther: "We shall return henceforth to thy home, my beloved progeny. Yet, I bid thee remember this realm, not for its weakness but for what it reveals of existence. Strength alone is not the measure of worth, nor is survival the only path. There is… something more."
The children nodded, their expressions ranging from contemplation to quiet agreement. A'malther's gaze turned toward the shattered remains of the Barrier, his thoughts lingering on the echoes of the souls he had encountered.
A'malther: "Come. Let us leave this fractured realm. Thy mother awaits, and thou hast tales to share."
With that, he raised a skeletal hand, crimson light enveloping them as a portal began to form, its swirling energies promising a return to their voidful domain. Yet, as they stepped through, A'malther's thoughts remained clouded, the faint whispers of a flower's laughter and a king's sorrow echoing in the recesses of his mind.
This wasn't the last time he would come to this location, as it was now of his ownership, as after all, he got something without no one noticing, the 6 human souls monsterkind recollected, having them hidden while carrying them along with him and his children.
As the portal's crimson light faded, A'malther stepped forth into the boundless expanse of his voidful domain, his skeletal form radiating an immutable presence, one that had long defined this place. Though his expression remained impassive, the weight of his contemplation lingered, veiled beneath his silence.
The moment his children emerged, A'habbat was upon them.
Her celestial presence flickered like distant stardust, shifting between relief and concern as she enfolded them in her embrace.
A'habbat:"Thou art returned… My dearest stars, mine own light… Art thee unscathed?"
Though her voice carried its usual elegance, a tremor betrayed her worry. She held them close, scanning them with a mother's all-seeing gaze, searching for wounds unseen.
Then, with a measured stride and the subtle rustle of his plague-doctor's coat, Sebastian arrived.
His presence was one of calculated urgency—graceful, yet with the deliberate poise of a physician assessing his patients. Though not bound to A'habbat by blood, he had long accepted his role as their guardian in health, an ever-watchful caretaker.
He exhaled softly, clasping his gloved hands together before addressing the children.
Sebastian:"Ah… At last, thou hast returned. One must assess thy condition forthwith. Exposure to realms beyond one's nature is seldom without consequence."
He stepped forward, reaching for Zalthirion's wrist, then Velthara's pulse, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable.
Sebastian:"Prolonged absence from thy origin… The body doth not always welcome such divergence. Tell me, dost thou experience dizziness? Aches? A most unnatural fatigue, perhaps? Hm… I must insist upon a thorough examination posthaste."
The children, though reluctant, allowed his scrutiny. Some met it with mild amusement, others with thinly veiled impatience. Yet, none refuted him—for they knew well that Sebastian's concern, though clinical, was genuine.
Meanwhile, A'malther did not linger.
He turned from the reunion without a word, dissolving into the void as he strode toward the sanctum of his domain—his lab.
There, in the vast chamber of celestial engravings and arcane sigils, A'malther moved with purpose.
His skeletal fingers uncurled, revealing his prize.
Six human souls.
Encased within unseen bindings, they pulsed faintly, their colors shimmering in rhythmic defiance—fragile, yet potent.
One by one, A'malther placed them into pristine jars of starlit glass, the vessels reacting to his presence as they sealed with a faint hum. The glow of mortal essence danced upon the chamber walls, illuminating the void with something eerily… alive.
Across the chamber, Nexus watched.
Silent. Still. Observing.
They could have spoken—should have, perhaps—but they did not.
For they knew one thing with certainty: A'malther did nothing without purpose.
Whatever plan lay behind this act was already in motion—woven into the fabric of fate itself.
And so, the chamber remained quiet, save for the soft pulsations of six stolen souls—remnants of a world left behind, now resting in the hands of a being who wove destiny itself.