Frisk offered the sneering flower in its graffitied pot, the child themselves sporting bruises. Asgore glared down at them.
“Accidentally shot FriskyBits. They’re fine.”
“Do you feel sorry?”
“I don’t have a soul. I can’t feel anything, dummy.”
Asgore snatched Flowey by the pot, eyes narrowed.
“As the kids would say…” he muttered. “This bitch empty.”
Flowey reared back. “ExCUSE m-“
Asgore pivoted and launched the plant through the window, his bellow forcing birds to take flight.
Flowey’s screams drifted through the remains of the window, growing ever quieter as he vanished over the horizon.