Toby Fox presents "Ambrosia!"

[Sans]

Soon, the yapping of the hounds and the conversation of her monster friends grew distant. Frisk pushed through the ever increasing jungle as she worked her way deep into the forest. Her ears guided her through the leafy brush, as her eyes alone could no longer see her through the approaching darkness. Her ears picked up the rustling of leaves belonging to several wild animals, primarily deer, galloping away from the direction she was headed. They were making haste and, in their panic, they did not much care for the noises they made or the attention they drew.

The voices grew louder, the dirt beneath her shifting, the ground rumbling with a low, thunderous boom. She steeled her heart and moved forward, keeping silent and low to the ground. Eventually, a combination of colors flashed before her eyes. Parting a bush, she squinted in a desperate attempt to see through the flames.

Before her was a massive, reddish-purplish bonfire almost the size of a tower. The tips of the flames only barely jutted out over the top of the forest, rendering it almost invisible to anyone outside it. That must have been why she hadn’t seen it while she and her friends were approaching Ambrosia. Indeed, the glow of the coals within the base of the bonfire, contained only by a minute selection of ashened stones, were of an indigo color, and sparked every time the flames tried to exit its boundaries. Each attempt forced the fire into a cylindrical shape more in line with a tornado than a fire, which only increased its fury and its stubborn urge to escape and consume everything around it. Frisk moved her shirt up to her mouth to shield herself from the smoke-filled air and brimstone stench. She tried to focus on everything but the cylindrical bonfire. She had to know what was going on.

Her eyes eventually settled on the conglomerate of huge, muscular figures surrounding the fire in a massive circle. They sat, motionless, except for a select few. Many of those few stood, stick in hand, pounding away at a set of drums a distance away. She heard the drumbeats over the winds zipping around her and sucking the branches and leaves towards the inferno in front of her; they matched the rapid reverberations of her heartbeat, of the quaking of the ground beneath her. She sucked in what breath she could to force down the thoughts urging her to flee.

Then, the flames parted, forming a two-pronged, horn-like shape from the earth to the darkened sky. In the middle, she saw their leader.

He was obviously their leader. Whereas every other orc in the vicinity was fairly minimalist and “cavemany” in terms of ashion design, with the vast majority having only a modest loincloth to cover their waist and a spare few having something resembling a shirt to wear over their chests, their leader wore a massive, purple cloak covering him from shoulder to feet. On his head was a massive ram skull, its horns chopped off and its maw wide open as if screaming, allowing his face to be viewed past the teeth. Dozens of ginormous, razor-sharp teeth jutted out from beneath his lips, gnashed in a picture of rage only lessened by the thousand-yard stare the orc shaman sported. He was looking right at her, but he didn’t seem to know she was even there. It was as if he was lost in his own little world, imagining the chaos and destruction the purple flames he concocted could unleash.

The question was, to whom were the flames intended for?

“well, what do we have here?”

Her fucking heart almost fucking leaped out of her fucking chest.