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“Why did He abandon us?”
Sammy thought as he readied the preparations for his ritual. He hadn’t heard from the Ink Demon in weeks, not even seen him in the shadows or out of the corner of his eye. Why? Had he done something to displease his Lord, had he been unfaithful? Had he been slow and small in his displays of love?
No more. The prophet shook his head as if to knock those thoughts out. He was being ridiculous. He knew why the Ink Demon had been out of reach lately- it was because of the intruder, the one he had strapped down to a table right now. His Lord was going to be so pleased with this offering. Sammy smiled eagerly to himself.
The sheep stirred from the other side of the room. Sammy wasn’t worried, he had made sure to fasten the ropes as tight as he could. He couldn’t risk having it escape, not when it was such a perfect sacrifice, not when he knew this would be the thing to get his Lord’s attention.
“…What the hell is this…”
Ah, so it was awake. Just as Sammy was about to turn and explain the situation to his sheep, the speakers above the wooden support beams burst into life. At first, they blurted nothing but static, but then the unmistakable voice spoke through. His savior!
“Sammy, what the HELL is this?!”
The prophet ran so he was under the speaker, as if it was a two-way microphone. Sammy knew it wasn’t, but felt the need to speak face-to-face with something, especially considering the aggravated twinge to his Lord’s voice. Just standing there made him feel like a small child getting scolded, too far below their parents to actually speak with them.
“My Lord! You’ve arrived, uh, a bit earlier than I expected. This is-,” Sammy gulped, suddenly unsure of his plans, “my offering!”
It was quiet for a few minutes, the only thing coming through from the speakers, static. Sammy stood there, growing more and more fidgety each passing moment.
“Do you like it?”
The speakers erupted with a voice again. “Sammy, you idiotic excuse for a messenger,” the Ink Demon snarled, his voice dropping lower and lower with annoyance. “Do ya have any clue of just who that is?”
Sammy glanced back at the sheep. It wide awake now, but opted to stay quiet. A smart move on its part Sammy thought. It’d be nerve-wracking to deal with his Lord’s anger and an attempting escapee at the same time. He looked back up to the speaker.
“Well, I did think he looked a bit familiar, my Lord, but truth be told, it’s lost on me.” Sammy turned back to the sheep, walking closer this time. He could tell that it became more and more afraid with each step, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he examined its face, trying hard to bring the ringing bell in the back of his mind closer to the front.
The Ink Demon sighed through static. “Look closer, Sammy.”
He moved until he was not even inches away from the sheep’s face. There was a sudden trigger in his mind, like its ink was rearranging, causing a flood. And his eyes fired up with recognition.
“Henry!”
The sheep- Henry- gasped as Sammy suddenly moved to grab his face, holding it intently and staring into his eyes. There was no doubt about it. Even though age had taken its toll, and his eyes were covered by fear, this was the man he had worked with so many years ago. Sammy let out a happy cry.
“Henry- How- how can it be you? How are you here?” Nobody- no human- had been here in decades. There was nothing in Drew Studios except horrible, taunting remnants of the past. It wasn’t Sammy’s fault that he had forgotten about his former boss. He broke into a smile. Now, now, he remembered! How could he not, when Henry was here, right in front of him, strapped to the table-
“Oh!” Sammy quickly moved to untie Henry, fumbling with the rope. “I’m terribly sorry about this Henry. I had no idea it was you, I didn’t know until Bendy had-“ Sammy’s already accelerated train of thought veered off into another track. He threw his hands up suddenly, smile widening, leaving the rope slightly loosened but still tied. If Henry complained, Sammy didn’t hear it, already looking up to the speakers in adoration.
“My Lord! My Lord, thank you for blessing me with this! With this knowledge, with this friend! I never would have known had you not shown me.” His voice grew higher and higher in pitch, hysterical with glee. “At least, if undeserving of your salvation, I am grateful for your mercy. This is the greatest blessing you’ve given me.”
There was sound coming through the speakers, but Sammy couldn’t hear it over his own enthusiasm. He quickly got to work on the ropes again, looking up at Henry and taking in every detail he had forgotten, until his thoughts were interrupted by the speakers again.
“Do not untie him.”
The prophet turned towards where his savior’s voice echoed. “But, my Lord, it’s Henry, the old animator! This-“
“I know who he is!” The Ink Demon shouted, the sudden strength of his voice making Sammy and Henry both cower. “This isn’t a blessing. This is test.” Sammy stilled. “Continue the ritual.”
The prophet’s heart fell to his stomach. Confusion, fear, guilt, and horror all churned in his insides, and it seemed like the floor was tilting under him. His breathing labored, and he glanced back at Henry.
The man’s terrified, piercing eyes met his own, and Sammy couldn’t hold his gaze. Henry wondered what was going on in the former music director’s head as he looked away, back to the speaker. Would he defend him against Bendy’s whims? Henry had never felt so on edge, so helplessly in another person’s hands.
Sammy spoke quietly, “M-my Lord, surely you don’t mean to actually… harm Henry, right? He’s perfectly innocent in all of this.”
“That’s not the point,” Bendy claimed. “Have ya ever heard the story of the Binding of Isaac, Sammy? A biblical story.”
The inky man shook his head, and Henry wasn’t surprised. Sammy had never been one for the supranatural or spirituality. That’s why it was so disconcerting to see him now, speaking with such piety.
“It’s abouta man who God asked to sacrifice his only son. And ya know what he did, Sammy? He obeyed. He did it, to show his love and faith.” At that, Sammy trembled.
He slowly looked at Henry again, still helpless on the table. He did nothing but stare for a few minutes. Henry didn’t dare say anything. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t about to risk snapping Sammy out of his stupor. Behind the table, his hands busied themselves with the rope. Then Sammy opened his mouth.
“I… I can’t.” Sammy sucked air in forcefully. “Please my Lord, I can’t.”
Bendy grunted over the speakers. “Of course ya can, Sammy! Now- Do. It.”
“Please-” Sammy’s shuddering grew worse, and his ink started to drip as he walked over to the speakers carefully. “Please my Lord, I am not strong enough to do this. I beg of you, do not make me.”
The Demon started, “Sammy-!”
“PLEASE!” Sammy was all the way across the room, under the speakers now. His hands were thrown up in pleading, a black puddle forming under him from the streams of ink coming off his mutated body. “I know this man. It’s Henry! I cannot harm him, I can’t!”
He got onto his knees, head bowing down against the floor. “I BEG OF YOU! SEND ME ANOTHER TEST! I’LL DO ANYTHING! But, please, please, I can’t hurt him. I can’t-“ His voice cracked, and it seemed like he was going to come apart from shaking so hard, “I can’t go back to being alone.”
The speakers said nothing but static.
“My Lord, why would you do this? Why would you show me him? Show me who he IS? It would be so much easier if I didn’t know,” Sammy sobbed. He was hardly even visible from where Henry laid on the table, just a black amalgamation trembling on the floor.
Henry’s insides twisted with confusion and pity. The man was still clearly a few cards short of a deck, but his voice sounded so full of pain and betrayal, and no less unhinged. He had sounded insane when celebrating Henry’s “arrival”, but that was inexplicably different; it was lighter, nearly childish. Right now, he sounded like he was pleading for mercy from death row.
“Sammy. Get up.”
The man muttered something desperate Henry couldn’t hear. He lurched onto shaky feet, keeping his neck to his chest, not daring to look up at the speakers.
“I do not care who’s on that table, and neither should you. Followers have to honor their savior.” With that, it was like something snapped in Sammy. His shaking finally stopped, and there was a new sense of steadiness in his posture. Though he looked far from composed.
Sammy walked to the far end of the room, past the speakers, to an altar centered around a Bendy cutout. He picked something up from it, and it gleamed silver in the dim lighting. Henry’s heart skipped a beat.
As the ink monster- because he hardly resembled a man now- started walking towards him, his feet left trails of ink behind him with heavy squelching and creaking. Once he was less than a few feet away from Henry, his eyes finally caught a sight of what Sammy held- a curved knife.
His mouth went completely dry, and anything he could’ve said to dissuade Sammy was choked by fear until he was mere inches away from him.
Up close, Henry could see the changes in Sammy’s shape. His head had run into streams onto his shoulders, until there was no longer a neck, just a black, thick slope. His hands were gone, clumps of dripping ink having replaced them. In the right one was an intricately made knife, covered in ink and something darker. Looking even closer, he could see small streams of ink running specifically from Sammy’s hollow eyes. Henry’s heart ached, even as adrenaline rushed through his struggling limbs.
“Sammy, please,” he tried, “you don’t have to do this.”
Before he could say anything else, Sammy raised the knife. And as quick as any human, brought it down right on Henry’s chest, cutting his gasp off with a blood-curdling scream.
His entire body was taken over with a fiery pain, blood rushing from the tear. Henry prayed that it wasn’t too deep, figured through a blurry mind that it must’ve missed his heart by at least a bit, otherwise he’d be dead right now. Henry bit his tongue, trying futilely to distract himself from the wound, because Sammy was leaning in again. But instead of striking, he just stared, as if he was examining the wound. There was nothing in his eyes as he leered at Henry. There was nothing of the man he once knew as the ink creature started walking, lurching, over to a door on the left side of the room.
He opened it and entered into a closed-off space. The crackle of the speakers sounded distant, and Henry could feel himself fading in and out of consciousness. Weakly, he attempted at the rope around his hands again.
Sammy’s voice started over the speakers. What he was saying, Henry couldn’t process, but he had back that deranged tone of voice, crying out words that Henry couldn’t make out. His voice got louder with every word, his enunciation coming across as more and more desperate. He was shouting now, and Henry could almost hear another source of sound, crashing and thrumming from beyond that little space. The entire room seemed to tremble.
The last thing Henry heard, before the ties around his hands came undone, was a pained shriek.