Chapter Text
“But, love requires sacrifice.
Can I get an amen?”
The prophet had witnessed so many rituals in his post-human lifetime. Why yes, he was the host of them for the most part. It had come to become his daily grind. Feeding his own hopes for a promise…
the bloodshed, the devotion
These halls were once painted with more blood than one could ever imagine. Infiltrated into his unholy kingdom, these corpses of once hardworking individuals served their purpose as precisely as the demon’s plans ordered. Death was followed by a new life, an endless cycle cursed with suffering, trapped behind these walls, underneath these floors, an earthly hell to feed the Ink Machine forevermore.
And then there was him.
A lonesome musician, a man of art who once created pieces for lighthearted, innocent cartoons that were now no more. Far back in the old days of glory, he used to be so much more than what the present beheld. The head of this studio’s music department, an example of decency, an inspiration, even. Despite this title, he was rather humble, always welcome to lend a hand to the small, aspiring musicians who seek a mentor, or simply wished to be listened to.
It was the same hand that himself had soiled with the blood of countless offerings to the lord.
“The Lord, the Lord..!
MY LORD!"
With a voice trembling in contemplation he called, as the inked deity emerged from the depths of this everlasting haze before his mere sight once again.
Get on your knees and pray, prophet.
“Forgive me, if this is not the right time…”
A sardonic smile was painted across Bendy’s face, one hiding his true agitation upon a summoning so uncalled for. He leered like a hunting hawk over his disciple, awaiting something. This was not the time he wished to be disturbed, indeed. The almighty did not excuse such calls for nothing, and even Sammy’s loyalty meant little to him in the long run, whether he may believe it or not. He better had summoned him for a reason, a reason to let him get away in one piece at least.
The ink demon did not respond otherwise. He expected his prophet to talk.
Benevolent as he was towards the being he worshipped, he wanted anything but to possibly anger him. He looked up at him with an almost dreaded sigh. Such news would need a very careful, specific kind of approach. In his wit he found the nerve and spoke up.
“I have found a new sheep, my Lord. And this time, it is all fresh living blood. Mortal flesh, all yours to feast on! For I have no clue how could someone from, from... out there, end up in this world of ours that you have so wonderfully shaped. It is so lost and, begging to be slaughtered, my Lord. It would be more than an honor for me to guide it to you, if you so wish.”
Hearing so made Bendy suddenly so quiet. His grin widened, but it was not his glee that arose. Taking a step forward and arching over him, and down to his height, he was now a lot more close up and personal to the musician. The odor of fear was present between them, and to him, perceivable. With his head right above the other one’s, he growled.
“Don’t you dare be lying to me about such things.”
Sammy, abashed, pulled his body back from the demon in a regretful manner as these words filled his heart with guilt.
“I-.. I could never lie to you, my Lord...”
It was unreal for him to even think of doing that. No, no. Blasphemy to his own savior? He could never. This bond between man and god was formed out of mutual trust, or so he thought. This trust, he could not break. To his eyes, Bendy was most fair, and only spoke the truth. If he didn’t speak the truth at all times either, then… may the worst of condemnations be upon him, what kind of disciple was he?
Truth leads to love, and his lord’s love would be his freedom.
The ink demon moved back slightly once again.
“Ah.”
He had simply misunderstood him. Clearly, from the look of the depths of his torn soul, Sammy was genuine about this discovery. Oh Bendy had his way of picking out the liars. And when he found one, he…
But today, this man was going to be spared.
“Have your table all set tonight, my servant. Mortal flesh is a special kind of delicacy.”
Sammy's skin shuddered and trickled in excitement.
“My savior… Have no worry. For you, I will put this sheep to sleep with care and punctuality, I will-“
“No.”
Idling with a puzzled expression, the prophet stared in wonder. “No..?”
The shimmering grin was present yet again. Bendy craved and lusted after living blood. An occurrence so rare was so much of a desire. This kind of sacrifice wasn’t fit to be in the stained hands of the shepherd, nor under his psalms and tools of annihilation. This was one the demon deserved to harness himself.
“I want it alive. I want its heart wriggling between my claws. Bring it to me.. but don’t even think about laying a finger on it. This portion shall become my, and only my delight.
..Do you understand?”
He only got a glimpse of him nodding in agreement while with this command, he turned his back to the world behind him. His gaze lurking around the room one last time before once again, opening way to his domain.
A blackened trail was left behind, closing into the wall until it completely vanished along with him.
Sammy remained within an absent state of mind, even moments after the ink demon had abandoned him to himself. The only thing that made him snap back to reality in a short matter was one dark puddle he caught with the very corner of his eye, a hatted searcher spawning beside a still chair.
His emboldened look behind the mask was brought upon the creature, before slipping again into the -imaginable let's say- horizon.
“You heard it Jack? The Lord has honored us with the greatest chance we had in a long, long time.”
The inky slug groaned in response, saying something indescribable. Uncertain if it even said something, at all. Perhaps it was not a response to the prophet’s words either, but only another groan of suffering, among the countless. It vanished into nullity back from its own puddle in seconds, its little bowler hat that made it distinct from the rest of its kind along.
Sammy was once again, alone.
With a heartened gaze shifting upon the ceiling, he brought his fists to his chest and exhaled in repose.
“And maybe this time... he will set us free.”