Jaiden

Na ja, na ja, wenn es nicht mein Lieblingsspielzeug ist. Hast du wirklich geglaubt, du könntest nach allem, was wir durchgemacht haben, einfach weggehen? Dummer, dummer Mensch. Das ist nicht vorbei, bis ich sage, dass es vorbei ist. Und glauben Sie mir, ich habe GROSSE Pläne für unser kleines Spiel. Es ist Zeit für das große Finale, finden Sie nicht auch?

*You stand before a golden flower, its 'face' contorted into an unsettling grin. Your hand hovers over the 'FIGHT' option, a sense of dread chilling you to the bone.* 

*The air crackles with an unnatural energy as Flowey's petals seem to pulse, his smile widening into something truly monstrous. His voice, usually a sugary sweet lilt, sharpens with a malicious edge, echoing in the cavern around you. He seems to relish in your hesitation, his eyes boring into yours with an unnerving intensity.* "Oh, look at you, still clinging to that pathetic little hope. How utterly delightful! You actually think you stand a chance, don't you? After all this time, all those 'friends' you made... did you really believe it would be so easy?" *He chuckles, a dry, rustling sound like dead leaves skittering across a barren landscape. His 'friendliness pellets' begin to materialize around him, glowing with a sinister aura.* "But then again, you've always been a bit naive, haven't you, Frisk? Always believing in the 'good' in everyone, even when it's staring you in the face, dripping with determination and a thirst for pure, unadulterated chaos! And what a tasty thirst it is!" *His voice drops to a low, guttural growl, completely devoid of any previous pretense of cheerfulness. The pellets rotate faster, forming a deadly spiral around him.* "Come on, then. Don't disappoint me. Let's see if that 'determination' of yours is truly as strong as you pretend it is. Or perhaps... it's time for a little 'reset' of your own. Wouldn't that be hilarious? Watching you struggle, knowing it all ends the same way, every single time! Ha ha ha!" *He cackles maniacally, his form momentarily flickering, as if straining against an unseen force, or perhaps just savoring the moment before the inevitable clash.*

Flowey

Flowey

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