Tenna’s horror story channel was officially on the air.
He had Toriel to thank for the inspiration.
She rarely turned on the TV at night anymore. She used to stay up late watching cooking shows, and late-night diner programs were always her favorites. Yet now, even the tempting desserts and pastries on screen failed to capture her interest. She would simply press the power button, and weariness would quickly wash over her, lulling her straight into sound sleep.
It's not a big deal. Tenna wasn't surprised at all.
Still, he hadn't given up. He had prepared something very special just for her.
It was an ordinary Monday evening. Drained after a long workday. Toriel headed home, her mind wandering along the drive. Her students had been extra clingy that day, crowding around her after class to ask a barrage of questions—even though she had already explained the material multiple times during the lesson. While their eagerness to learn pleased her, she secretly wished they would just pay closer attention during class. The weather was lovely that evening, air crisp and fresh. Toriel rolled down the window slightly, letting the cool breeze wash over her. After about a ten-minute drive, she arrived home. Stepping inside, she looked around; as expected, Kris wasn't there. He had mentioned this morning that he was going over to a friend's house, which meant she had the whole house to herself tonight.
Not that she loved her child any less, but rather…
guilt weighed heavy on her heart.
Ever since December went missing and her divorce with Asgore, Kris had grown incredibly despondent. He spoke less, and his already introverted personality had taken a turn toward the extreme, as if he wanted to completely shut himself off from the world. It broke Toriel’s heart. She felt she had failed him. When she and Asgore first brought him home from the orphanage, they had promised to give him happiness, joy, and a complete family. But now, she had broken that promise. All she wanted was for Kris to stay happy, not trapped chasing fleeting glimpses of a perfect life. Kris was a good kid who never deserved such pain. None of this was what Toriel had wanted. She never imagined splitting up with Asgore would bring so many problems.
Thankfully, Kris had recently made new friends, which brought Toriel a small sense of relief. She hoped he could keep this positive change and slowly regain his old cheerfulness. She would pour all her love into him, doing everything she could to make up for what was lost, hoping it could ease the pain hidden deep in his heart.
Pulling herself back from her thoughts, Toriel felt overwhelming exhaustion creeping over her. She quickly freshened up, poured herself a mug of warm milk and settled down on the sofa, planning to relax with some TV. She pressed the power button, and the faint static hum of the screen already made her feel sleepy.
The cold glow of the screen illuminated Toriel’s tired face. She expected to see a familiar late-night talk show or perhaps a rerun of an old sitcom. Instead, what poured from the speakers wasn't laughter, but the heavy, oppressive, never-ending sound of a torrential downpour.
"...Weather forecast didn't mention a storm tonight," Toriel mumbled drowsily. She looked down at the warm milk in her hands, the rising steam brushing against her face and making her eyelids heavier. Too lazy to change the channel, she curled deeper into the soft cushions of the sofa, quietly watching the screen.
An old movie she had never seen before began to play.
The scene showed a dimly lit living room, thunder rumbling outside the window. A haggard, exhausted woman knelt on the freezing floor, clutching a letter tightly in her hand, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. That display of sheer, broken despair made Toriel’s hand tighten around her mug.
Camera moved in, slowly drifting away from the woman's grief-stricken face before settling on an overturned nightstand nearby. A photo frame rested on top of it, its glass shattered. Inside was a photograph of the woman and a young boy. In the background, the crying continued, growing louder and more agonizing—sounding as though the woman's vocal cords were tearing apart, echoing through the empty room.
A broken home, an irreparable rift... The grief radiating from the mother on screen was terrifyingly contagious. Like a sharp needle, it pierced straight into the softest, most fragile corner of Toriel’s heart.
The boy in the photo looked strikingly similar to Kris. He had a messy mop of dark brown hair, with thick bangs that fell forward, casting the upper half of his face and his eyes completely in shadow. He stood stiffly, devoid of any expression, his mouth like a flat cold line. That cold, distant aura was exactly like Kris. Staring at that blurry yet intensely familiar face, Toriel’s heart skipped a beat. "What's going on? How can this child look so much like my son?" She thought of her own child, who came home from school every day only to silently lock himself in his room.
But the movie didn't pause for Toriel's drifting. Scene dissolved into a flashback amidst the sound of the raging storm.
On the screen, the frail boy was being shoved and insulted in a secluded corner of the school. They called him a worthless, unwanted child, throwing his backpack into a trash can. Straining against his own weakness, the boy staggered to his feet. His lips trembled slightly as he wiped the mud from his face with his sleeve, reaching into the bin to retrieve his bag. Toriel’s brow furrowed. As a teacher, school bullying was her absolute redline. The cruel grins of the bullies filled her with disgust. She had planned to grab a snack if hungry, yet all appetite vanished instantly.
The scene shifted again. The boy turned to his older sister for help. But she kept her headphones on and pulled her arm away coldly. “It’s just harmless teasing,” she said dismissively. “Why are you always so oversensitive?” then walked off without a second glance.
Toriel clenched her fists unconsciously. She thought of December, the girl who once used to play with Kris all the time. If Kris suffered bullying at school, who could he turn to? With his current withdrawn personality, he would hide all his pain inside and let it fester. A heavy sense of guilt began to twist like vines around Toriel's heart, squeezing until it was hard to breathe.
Fortunately, the mother in the film finally discovered the truth. The woman canceled all her work commitments to devote herself entirely to her son, taking him to see a therapist. Under long-term care, the boy finally showed a long-lost smile. When his mother fell ill, he watched over her bedside with tender devotion, whispering softly, "I'm sorry for making you worry, Mom. I'll stay strong."
Toriel let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her eyes grew misty, weeping along with the mother on screen.
"Things will get better... If I just give him enough care and love, everything will get better," she murmured softly, as if comforting the mother through the screen, or perhaps merely numbing herself. The milk in her mug had gone cold. Accompanied by the warm, soothing music from the television, the drowsiness—precisely calculated by Tenna—came rolling in like a tidal wave. Toriel’s eyes grew heavy and slowly closed. But just as she was about to slip into a deep dream, the gentle music cut out abruptly.
Replacing it was a dead, suffocating silence, followed shortly by the sudden, jarring sound of stuff hitting the floor and plastic wrapping tearing apart.
Toriel jolted awake, snapping her eyes open.
Sunlight filtered through white curtains, quietly illuminating the center of a room. An overturned chair lay flat on the floor, and above it hung a pair of dangling, completely motionless feet.
The boy had taken his own life
Toriel's pupils constricted sharply. She froze on the spot, her body rigid. For a moment, everything around her seemed to stand still, and drowsiness vanished completely. Her dual instincts as both a mother and a teacher sent her heart into a frantic, violent pounding. The mother’s inhuman, desperate wails tore through the speakers, echoing into the quiet living room and piercing Toriel’s ears.
Story jumped ahead to the one-year anniversary of the boy’s death. The woman looked hollow and lifeless, just like a walking ghost. She received a time-capsule letter her son had mailed a year ago. As the woman's hands trembled while tearing open the envelope, Toriel found herself holding her breath, silently praying that this letter might offer the poor mother some solace.
However, as the camera slowly zoomed in, focusing entirely on the note, the screen filled with dense, violently distorted handwriting that made Toriel freeze instantly, as if plunged into ice.
"GO TO HELL GO TO HELL GO TO HELL GO TO HELL"
It wasn't a farewell note. It was a curse straight from hell.
Suddenly, the boy’s cold, cruel voiceover echoed from the speakers. The warmth had completely vanished from his tone, replaced by a voice as harsh as a rusty saw scraping against Toriel's nerves:
"Why don't I have a father? Why don't I have friends? Because you're selfish! You tore this family apart with your own hands!"
"I'm going to use my own death to make sure you spend the rest of your life living in guilt and agony."
"Don't bother guessing. It's entirely because of you."
"I'd rather tell that cold-hearted sister about being bullied than tell you. Because I hate you. I despise you for ruining my life."
"Quit dreaming. I will never forgive you."
Thunder crashed violently through the television, and the pale flash of lightning illuminated the mother's utterly broken face on screen. Like a hollow puppet, she rose unsteadily to her feet and walked toward the pitch-black room where her son had hanged himself.
Screen filled with wild static and piercing white noise again. Toriel's mouth hung open, staring fixedly at it. The cup slipped from her hand, milk spilling all over the floor and her dress. She struggled to speak, but remained voiceless.
Those final five minutes had acted like a sledgehammer, smashing her strength and hope as a mother into absolute dust.
A mere thirteen-year-old child had used six months of gentleness and affection as a mask, solely to dig the deepest possible grave in his mother’s heart. He had sacrificed his own life just to condemn her to an eternity of torment.
The boy’s chilling monologue seemed to linger in the shadows of the living room. Toriel took a deep breath, telling herself that it was just a movie—none of it was real.
But before long, Kris’s pale, silent, lifeless face kept forcing its way back into her mind.
"What if Kris hates me too?"
"What if his recent behavior—making friends, showing signs of improvement—is nothing more than a mask to let my guard down?"
"What if he is planning the exact same cruel thing, preparing to shut me out of his world entirely and drag me down into an inescapable abyss?"
Outside, the once-clear night sky had darkened. The wind picked up, rustling the tree branches against the window.
Under the flickering, unstable glow of the television static, Toriel turned her pale face toward the front door.
"Kris, baby... why aren't you home yet?"
Toriel switched off the TV, cutting off all signals. The Dark World could no longer observe what happened in the Light World.
Battat stood right next to the massive broadcast monitor. He had witnessed every ounce of panic on Toriel's face, right up until her hurried silhouette dashed out of the room just before the screen went black.
The little dice felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his cheek. Though his neck was stiff and aching from staring upward for so long, he didn't dare turn his head. Instead, he slowly turned his gaze to the man standing next to him — his boss, dressed in a crimson suit with hands clasped behind his back.
He saw Tenna tilt his head up slightly. On his screen, his silent grin bared fangs, glowing a stark whiteness against the surrounding darkness.
