Chapter Text
Clover took one last look at his friends, steeling himself as he began to separate his soul from his body. It was harder than he expected—a gentle tug at first, then another, more forceful pull. He felt the connection snap like a brittle thread, though a strange sensation lingered, as if a piece of him hadn’t come all the way out. He chose to ignore that part.
This was it. His final choice. Whether or not he truly had to die didn’t matter anymore—he had the power to right an ancient wrong, to undo a grave injustice done to monsterkind by his ancestors. That was worth any price. His friends would mourn, but they were strong. They’d proven that again and again.
With trembling hands, he placed the brilliant yellow soul into the container. The moment it left his grasp, a wave of weakness hit him like a blow. He saw the pity in Starlo and Martlet’s eyes, but he kept his gaze locked on the kitsu in front of him, who met his look with unreadable calm.
Strangely, he didn’t feel like he was dying. He felt drained, yes, but not… gone. Maybe that was just because his soul was still close by.
“Do you want us to… stay?” Ceroba asked gently.
Clover shook his head. He didn’t want her to see another kid die.
“Go on… I’ll be okay,” he was lying, but somehow it didn’t feel like one.
Ceroba nodded solemnly. “Very well, Clover… this won’t be forgotten.”
She turned to leave, Starlo and Martlet following with SOUL in tow. As they disappeared, Clover let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He was so tired.
But it was worth it. It had to be. Monsterkind would be free.
He staggered, then dropped to his knees as the exhaustion overwhelmed him. He’d thought that losing his soul would feel like agony, like something irreversible.
Instead, it just felt… heavy. Like a weight pulling him down.
He crawled across the floor, reaching the edge of the balcony that overlooked New Home. He could just barely see the city lights through the haze clouding his vision.
Maybe… maybe if he just closed his eyes. Just for a second.
“Thank you. This sacrifice won't be forgotten,” the king said solemnly as he took the jar into his large paws, holding it with reverent care.
His eyes, heavy with old sorrow, lifted past the trio of monsters. “I assume you don't have the body?”
Martlet and Starlo exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions tightening in shared confusion.
“Sorry?” they said in unison.
The king’s shoulders fell. “Humans do not turn to dust,” he said quietly. “ When one of their own passes, they preserve the body. They give it rest. I have a coffin for them.”
The silence that followed was thick with a new weight. Martlet’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Starlo shifted on his feet, uncertain. Ceroba, standing in front of them all, stared at the floor, her lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.
“Clover should still be on the balcony in new home… the one with the cherry blossom tree,” Martlet said at last, voice barely above a whisper. “ We—we didn’t know.”
The king only gave a solemn nod.
The trio exchanged a knowing glance.
“We can go get him,” Martlet said. She had no doubt that whoever retrieved the body wouldn't be in the best state afterward,but they'd deal with that when the time came.
“I suggest you move quickly,” the king added. “Some monsters might find... unpleasant uses for a human corpse.”
A shadow of concern crossed their faces. Without another word, the trio turned and hurried out.
Ceroba tried to suppress her more… sad thoughts as she trailed silently behind Starlo and Martlet in new home she took in the only thing she could, the smell.
Ceroba could still smell how Clover smell clung to her clothes, grime and gunpowder. Mixed together, he smelt like that when he entered the wild east, at the time she brushed it off at the mere surprise of being able to complete chujins plan, and no one else picked it up thanks to her.
Did Clover really have the be-
The voice of her best friend but her out of her spiraling thoughts as he returned from the rooftop, empty handed
“Ceroba…” Starlo murmured, dazed as she returned to reality. “The body’s gone.”
Ceroba blinked. “What?”
“What?!” both Ceroba and Martlet echoed, voices sharp with disbelief. They had been gone for—what, thirty minutes? Maybe less.
“A-Are you sure, Star?” Ceroba asked, but didn’t wait for a reply. Her feet were already moving. She rushed past Martlet and Starlo, heart pounding, sprinting to the balcony.
Empty.
He wasn’t there.
Ceroba stood frozen, staring at the vacant space where Clover’s body should’ve been. A sick churn twisted in her gut. She should never have left him to die alone. She should’ve let another child sacrifice themselves for monsterkind.
But she could still smell him—grime and gunpowder clinging to the air, laced with blood and—
Because you’re a disapp—
She clenched her teeth and cut the thought short with a low growl. At herself. She turned back, retracing her steps toward Starlo and Martlet.
“We… we need to find out who took the body. There’s no way a human could’ve moved that far without their SOUL,” Ceroba said, her voice steeled but cracking.
They both nodded silently.
“We should head to the MMT Resort,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “If anyone saw anything the people there would have seen.”
It was the only logical explanation.
Wasn’t it?
*
Flowey stared down at Clover’s unconscious body, sprawled across the flowerbed. A vial of Determination serum in the grip of one of his vines.
It had taken a few resets, but he’d finally managed to inject it into his body, not the soul. Clover hadn’t stirred.
Flowey wasn’t exactly sure what would happen. What could happen, if a person regained the will to live without a soul? Would the kid become something like him? .
Now that would be hilarious. Watching Clover’s friends react to their “hero” twisted into something like Flowey. That priceless moment of horror.
Or maybe… maybe the body would cling to the soul, like gravity refusing to let go. Maybe some miracle would take place, and the idiot would wake up the same as always,pure, stubborn, painfully innocent.
As Clover’s fingers began to twitch and his eyes fluttered open, Flowey quickly ducked into the ground before he could see him, slipping beneath the ground with practiced ease. He coiled his vines, grinning in the darkness beneath the soil.
Time to put on the show, again.
As soon as he saw Clover coming up to the certain point of the ruins he would meet flowey in, he came up with theatrical flair, as he burst into view, face that classic painted on smile.
"Howdy! I'm Flowey. Flowey the Flower!"
He tilted his head, voice dipping into a mock-sweet tone.
"Hmmm... You look confused..."
*
The elevator hummed softly as it descended.
Ceroba stood with her staff in one hand, her free paw curled into a tight fist. Whoever had stolen Clover's body would pay .
Beside her, Martlet leaned against the railing, swaying slightly with the motion. Starlo stood silently, absently spinning the cylinder of his revolver—an old habit that helped settle his nerves.
For a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were the soft chime of Ceroba’s staff and the rhythmic click of Starlo’s revolver.
Then Martlet broke the silence with a shaky hum.
“You know what we should do?” she murmured, staring at the floor. Her voice trembled, and her eyes glistened with tears she was clearly trying to hold back. “We should have a funeral. F-for Clover.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Starlo blinked, then turned toward her, his hand stilling. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea, Feathers,” he said gently. “Got anything in mind?”
“Waterfall,” she answered quickly, like saying more might push her over the edge.
Starlo gave a small nod. “Right. I reckon the kid would’ve liked to see the whole underground.”
Ceroba wasn’t really listening anymore. She heard bits and pieces—how Martlet would use Clover’s old hat, how Starlo would bring the gun Clover once gave him, each of them would use a gift left by Clover.
But Ceroba?
Her “gift” was his soul. The very culmination of his being.
She let her thoughts drift, eyes fixed ahead but seeing something distant. Funny, in a bitter way, how they'd given Axis that pile of junk—something that would rust, break, fade. All of it temporary. Just like Clover’s sacrifice. There’d be celebrations.then life would go on. At least for most.
But not for the monsters Clover had touched. Not for the ones he’d changed.
Ding.
The elevator chimed and Martlet's quiet rambling trailed off. Ceroba’s spiraling thoughts snapped back into place.
The doors slid open with a quiet hiss.
The room was almost empty.
One figure stood at the edge of the fountain, arms trembling, body hunched, barely managing to stay upright as he clutched the cold stone rim. There back rose and fell in uneven breaths, like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.
Ceroba stepped forward slowly, staff clicking against the tile. She stared at the figure. The posture was familiar. Too familiar.
She reached out and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Hey, kid... have yo—”
The figure jolted violently at her touch, spinning around with a gasp.
It was Clover.
His eyes were wide, glassy with panic, sunken like he hadn't slept for days—or maybe longer. And in the split second before anyone could react, his legs buckled beneath him.
“Clover—!”
Ceroba caught him just in time, arms wrapping around his collapsing body, stopping him from crumpling into the fountain behind him.
He was cold.
He was shaking.
He was supposed to be dead .
But he wasn’t.