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He kept running, pushing his old and frail legs to their very limit just before the blackened waves of the demon that was after him could touch the edges of his heels.
The agony seemed endless- his breath, shorter and shorter as he hurried to get to the finish line of a race that didn't exist, but he had to win regardless. If that... that thing killed its own worshiper, Henry did not even want to imagine what would it do to him.
A door, a light at the end of the tunnel, leading to freedom?
His expression shifted, eyebrows rising and eyes opening wide as he merely kept himself on the move, he was almost there, almost there.
So close.
But he never had a chance to get to the other side.
His scream echoed to the corridor and beyond as the floorboards gave way with a loud crash, and nothing held the man from free-falling into the void below anymore; just like when he first came here. So he crumbled underneath the weight and fell down into a yet darker trench, and by a miracle he survived without the pool of ink to save him from the fall this time.
He could taste the blood in his mouth as fragments and pieces of the broken wood he was running on a moment ago fell flat on his bruised, scarred body. His eyelids fluttering rapidly to clean the dust that filled his blurry vision, as the sound of his voice translated into groans of pain and asphyxiation with a cloud of dirt surrounding him.
He coughed, once, twice, thrice. And then again, and again. A throaty growl prevailed and flooded his lungs as he struggled to lift himself with his faulty limbs- seeing in dread how the impact of his fall had caused many of his bones to fracture and some of his joints to twist and dislocate.
Huffing, he bent on his side against a cold wall behind him. Just to lessen the pain by a tiny amount, and let himself breathe.
Crimson life-sustaining liquid was dripping in thin little lines from the top of his head to his jaw, enough to warn him that he had been badly weakened and hurt.
He exhaled gently, trying to be quiet in where he had fallen. A trench so dim where no source of light seemed to greet him, except the one coming from the gaping upper floor that collapsed; shinning on Henry's surface like a spotlight.
That was when he saw the tall god of ink in the distance again, emerging from the ink in the darkness, grinning forever yet never ceasing to torment his existence since the moment he stepped into his old workshop after so many years.
Audible breaths of exhaustion and fear escaped Henry's lips. His usually calm and light brown eyes were bloodshot, pierced at the ink demon who stepped closer and closer.
drip
drip
Every of his squelchy step sounded as if to bring the man closer to his impending doom. He was desperate to run, but at the same moment he was held hostage to his own injuries. Could he could do more than accept this?
The deity had so far only shown signs of a predator, so the man could -and would- only assume that it would be of his delight to rip him apart. Yet once in front of him, he simply crouched to take a look at the scourging, living victim to his world.
Henry's eyes rolled up as he came face-to-face with the twisted version of his cartoon creation, Bendy. His skin was rippling with fear as black drips from his jaws fell on his tender wrinkled face, and he felt the freezing, inky touch of his claws on his numbing body. Henry gasped, unknowing what to expect and helpless to avoid the destiny that awaited him.
A sharp headache washed over him and caused him to shrivel, biting his lower lip as drips of his own blood and the demon's ink fell from his jowl to his clothes.
His own mind repeated these words to him, over and over to keep him from reaching the last stage of vulnerability:
"Don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out..."
Little did he know that his destiny would take a different path; far different from any of the rest of the people that worked in this studio before and after him.
The demon's expression remained unchanged, and yet he was intrigued by the -although beaten- thriving with life form of the old creator.
"You're so different than the rest."
A remark with multiple meanings, that was. Of course he was, physically. He stood there human while everyone had turned to ink, like a pearl among rough chunks of coal. But the animator himself was important for a reason.
A living human and a demon of ink could not communicate with words that only other beings of ink could perceive, and Bendy's words fell into his ears like nothingness.
Henry's eyes dilated as he saw the putrid grin across his face stretch even more, beyond any point of human, or worse, even physical capability at all.
"Stay alive for me Henry."
He drew his claws back from the suffering human's vessel, leaving him to bleed but gifting him with mercy.
Having heard nothing but a set of incomprehensible rustling, the man blinked slowly. As the demon's hand left him, his gaze scattered on the floor like marbles.
Bendy stood up and turned his back on him with just these words, even if they remained a mystery to Henry. As for himself, he hadn't managed to muster a single word during this, not even a plea, and simply watched with half-lidded eyes as the demon began to vanish from his range of view.
Glimmering light hit his shrinking silhouette so teasingly as Henry began to grow woozy and was soon to fall into unconsciousness. Only bearing a silent expression calling for help, knowing well there was a reason Bendy wanted him alive.
Enlightenment came to him just before his senses shut down. It was... like he felt everything and nothing at the same time.
A regretful past and a human mistake. He had put himself in the ritual once he activated the machine. And quickly he realized that he should not be flying from the fire, but going after it.
Bendy had something that he needed, just as much as Bendy needed what Henry had.
He was not yet aware of how much time exactly passed since he fainted, but once his senses began to revoke he could hear bleak, unfamiliar voices talk over him.
They sounded almost like ghosts. Most of their words were a jumbled mess to his subconscious, but out of whatever he could make, the voices he could hear were a male and a female.
And two names, that he was uncertain if he'd heard before.
"Tom [...][...]!"
"[...] looks pretty fucked. [...] sure [...] alive?"
"[...]?"
A slight pause. He felt two fingers on his throat.
"[...]. Shit."
"[...], maybe if [...].."
"You [...]?"
"[...] let him die?"
"[...] Alright, [...] Allison [...][...]."
Cold hands reached out to grip him suddenly, lifting him from the yet even colder ground. One felt slightly different from the other, stiffer, like solid steel. He responded with a light groan of pain as they grabbed hold of his ink-stained hair to readjust his head, until his chin rested on somebody's shoulder. With the hands still holding him tight, he felt motion, as if they began to carry him someplace else.
He was still limp, unconscious, and so, so wounded. Blood and ink had dried up on his clothes and skin, but the cuts were open and wide, aching, just like his bruised frame and fractured bones.
But he heard them. The mysterious man and woman, and their attempt to steal him from his fate so that he would see another day. And though Henry was not fully understanding of who they were or what was going on, he knew well that he was being saved.
Willingly he put a new weight on himself, silently promising he would help those who were helping him. Leaving the studio was now an objective of the past. He had to fight the demons that he left behind, and take whoever he could to freedom with him.
So for the sake of his destiny, himself and his promise, he held onto his life.
His story couldn't end yet.