What the actual... where did that even come from? The old man fought like a maniac in battle but he at least tried to look fearsome in an elegant, regal sort of way, most of the time. Then all of a sudden he had just rammed his opponent, horns first, while roaring at the top of his lungs? 

 

"I thought you weren't a goat," Frisk gasped as they avoided a follow-up blow, a burning scythe swing that scattered fireballs in every direction. No sooner had they managed to right themselves and spring to their feet, they were having to duck another furious tirade of almost random blows.

 

"I'm the boss," Asgore growled, his eyes glowing with a terrible radiance, "Of all monsters. And monsters do... as... they... please!"

 

Frisk backflipped just in time to evade a column of fire that rose from the earth that was now fracturing underneath them, as if the whole mountain raged alongside its sworn King.

 

"Not long now," Asgore snarled, "Until I'm truly... final... boss..."

 

As they ducked under another scythe swing directed at their head, Frisk was beginning to seriously rethink this 'pacifism' thing.