Taako's magic gives Foster a clear path--at least for the moment. The familiarity of Peridot's voice, is only noise to him, Lambert and Sans' faces in the chaos an ugly distraction. Any trace of sympathy he might have had for them is blighted by the knowledge that their success would only condemn him to the sick fate on the other side of reality.

He would rather see them die.

With the wind weaker, his charge is unimpeded, but he's still not fast enough to beat the rise of the barrier. He's forced to hit the brakes before he skewers himself on it, veering off and half skidding on the ice as he runs the spiky perimetre with a gutteral roar of frustration.

The crack of ice brings him back around--massive paws churning up snow as he races for the breach, still alight with hellfire. Anyone still in his way will be run down without a second thought.

His target, like everyone else's, is the Count.