The void was trembling.
A nothingness stretched in every direction — infinite, oppressive — its weight enough to crush lesser souls into dust. And yet, within that fathomless dark, two figures remained.
Chara stood alone in the emptiness, her ember-red eyes burning brighter than the endless black, a jagged crimson knife clutched in one hand. Around her, dozens of bloodied blades hovered, their edges gleaming with stolen light. Her expression was not one of hatred anymore — not quite. It was something colder. Resigned, yet eager.
Frisk stood across from her, his body battered, his soul frayed at the edges from countless deaths and rebirths. But now, an unfamiliar glow shone in his chest. A golden, star-shaped light pulsed within him — not the harsh crimson of Determination as before, but something softer, warmer. And stronger.
Chara raised her weapon.
"I'm ending this," she declared, her voice a thousand whispers layered over one another. "No more loops. No more begging. No more pretending you matter."
She lifted the great blade high. Its edge shimmered unnaturally, cleaving through the empty air with such force the void itself split open — a crack of pure, radiant gold cutting the nothingness in half. A fissure of light.
Frisk's gaze was drawn to it. A world he no longer remembered. A warmth he no longer knew. For a moment, he was a child again — before the resets, before the killings, before the burden of Determination turned his heart to stone.
And in that instant of distraction, Chara lunged.
The hovering blades shrieked through the air toward him like a storm of venomous fangs. But Frisk vanished in a burst of golden light. The knives passed through empty space.
A radiant flare struck Chara's chest. She staggered back, the air around her warping with the force of the unseen blow. Her eyes snapped to where the light originated, and she saw him.
Frisk stood amidst a swirling vortex of golden luminescence. The void itself recoiled from it, the oppressive dark peeling away as if in fear. The star-shaped Determination in his hands burned brighter than a hundred suns.
He looked at her, and for the first time in a long, long time… smiled.
"I finally get it," Frisk said softly. His voice wasn't triumphant. It wasn't angry. It was… tired. And gentle.
Chara blinked, her lips twisting, a faint waver in her crimson gaze. "Took you long enough," she spat. But there was no venom in her tone. Only inevitability.
"I'm sorry," Frisk continued, holding the shimmering star closer to his chest. "For what I did. And… for what I'm about to do."
At that moment, Chara's knives shot toward him again, filling the air like a swarm of scarlet comets. She sprinted with them, her blade raised for the final strike.
Frisk didn't move. He simply smiled wider. And with a bittersweet softness, he spoke his last words to her.
"Take it as a final gift, Chara. For being a bad friend."
The light exploded outward.
The knives evaporated. The void screamed and shuddered, its eternal darkness breaking apart in jagged cracks of gold. Chara halted mid-charge, the golden glow washing over her, consuming everything.
The last thing Frisk saw before it all ended was her face — surprised, uncertain, and for the first time in countless worlds, vulnerable.
"Have fun," he whispered.
And then, everything faded to black.
The void was gone. The trembling ceased. Only silence remained.
Top of Form
Bottom of Form