Chapter Text
“Come by the old studio. There's something I'd like you to see.”
Henry stood in front of the old door of the worn-out building. The wood was stained and chipped, most of the letters on the studio's plaque were missing, yet the wave of nostalgia almost knocked him off his feet.
He couldn't believe he's back here again.
Henry looked down at the letter, taking in the familiar scrawl on the yellowed, ink-stained paper. His gaze darted around the parking lot. Minus his own vehicle, it was entirely empty. He frowned. Joey didn't specify a time. Maybe he got held up somewhere?
Or maybe he didn't plan on showing up.
Henry stared at the entrance. The building had been expanded and was run down to the point of being almost unrecognizable. He felt as though he was trespassing. Maybe that was why Joey sent him here, to get him arrested. It wouldn't be the first time the man led into some kind of trouble. What possible reason could Joey have to send him? What could be said here that Joey couldn't bring up back at his apartment?
Henry stood outside the studio, rooted in place, a feeling he could only describe as dread over taking him. The longer he stood there, the greater the apprehension grew.
He shook his head. Joey just wanted to show him something. It'll be alright.
Henry took a hold of the doorknob, fighting back the horrible feeling that this will be the last time he'll see the outdoors, turned it and stepped inside.
And like a cell door closing on a prisoner, the door slammed shut behind him, a click echoing throughout the studio.
—
Henry wheezed out his last breath as he slammed the plank of wood down, locking the door. He moved back, shaking. The door thumped like a heart as the demon pounded against it from the other side. It always baffled the man that for all the powers the imp possessed, he was still able to be easily stopped by a door.
Henry backed away, legs still feeling like jelly. No matter how many times this happens, he never gets over the adrenaline rush. The Ink Demon roared behind the door, struggling to get through the solid wood. Henry ignored it and kept moving, eventually the cries faded into the background.
Henry glanced around the all too familiar wing of the studio, tired, wired and resigned to the next step. This was all becoming a chore now. Well, at least he gets to see Boris again. A small bit of comfort in this hellhole he's fallen into. Henry's stomach clenched, chest aching with what's to come later on. He wishes he could save him. Henry has wished for so many things since he's been here. He wished he never came here. He wished he had been here to stop Joey. He wished he could escape. He wished he never met Joey. He wished he never created–
That thought, he cut off like a record mid song. The artist took a deep breath, bringing him back to his usual calm state. Wishing does nothing. He has no choice but to continue playing along.
Henry moved forward and was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness. All these cycles were wearing him out. Not to mention getting clubbed on the back of the head. The old man rubbed the afflicted area in remembrance, cursing the deranged music director before the memory of the cultists fate flashed in his mind. He needs to move.
Henry tried to take another step forward, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. It was too much. The artist looked around, all was quiet as it should be.
Maybe a quick rest wouldn't hurt.
Henry sluggishly made his way over to a corner, using the wall to keep himself upright. The old man cautiously slid down until his butt met the floor, his body shielded by a variety of boxes and props.
I'm just going to rest my eyes for a minute. Henry decided, eyelids already fluttering close. Just a minute. Or maybe five…
The artist's body slumped a little, immediately drifting off. His chest moved up and down rhythmically. A slight whistle snore blew out his nose with each breath.
A soup can roll out from around the corner and softly hit a nearby wall. A few seconds passed before a friendly wolf-like creature emerged from behind the wall. He spotted the canned food and his face lit up. He bent down to pick it up and looked around. Something feels different. He feels like he should be meeting someone here. Someone familiar. A friend…
A creak from down the hall pulled him out of his thoughts. He jumped and shivered minutely. He needs to get back to his safe house, it's too dangerous here.
The wolf glanced around, waiting a little bit longer before scurrying away. Unknowingly passing by the slumbering artist. The room lit up, floorboards shifted, the ink beneath pulsed rapidly. It was as if the entire studio was coming to life. Then, in a flash, it all stood still again.
—
Henry's eyes snapped open, and he looked around frantically. He had found himself on the floor, surrounded by crates, cardboard cutouts and random planks of wood. The light dimmer than usual in the poorly lit studio.
Henry felt his heart drop to his stomach. When did he fall asleep? How much time has passed?
Henry jumped to his feet, nearly falling over from the sudden rush of movement, and had to steady himself using the wall. That short break did more harm than good, he still feels drained. His head pounded; he pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. The room spun. Something is wrong.
Henry forced his eyes open, pushing past the pain and nausea. Everything was quiet, too quiet. And too empty.
“Hello?” Henry called out, uncertain. “Boris?”
No answer. Which made sense but Henry heard no other sounds. No footsteps, no creaking. Hell, he thinks even the leaking stopped. Henry looked around, panic began to seep in. This…this is all wrong. This is different, and different doesn’t necessarily mean good. He called out for his friend again, still not receiving any kind of response. Was he back at the safe house? It suddenly occurred to Henry that he never bothered to remember where it was.
“Shake this off, Henry.” The cartoonist thought. “It’s just a slight deviation, nothing to get worked up over. I’m sure Boris is fine.”
Henry straightened up and walked away from the cluttered area, stepping into the more lit part of the room. Something fell to the floor with a sharp clatter, causing him to jump.
“Hello?” Henry called out. “Someone there?”
Again. No answer. The sudden silence put him more on edge than if something popped out from behind the wall.
“I know you're in here. Come out and show yourself.” Henry challenged, trying to disguise the quiver in his voice with minimal success. He waited, but nothing appeared.
Henry frowned, and after a moment of pondering, the old man began walking to where he heard the noise. It was only a few feet, but Henry felt as though he was walking a mile. The former employee pressed himself against the wall, he spotted a random can on the shelf next to him and gripped it firmly. It wasn't much for self defense, but it was better than sneaking up empty handed.
Henry waited, took a deep breath, steeled his nerves before rounding the corner, a can of soup raised high above his head. In less than a second, he came face to face with–
…Nothing.
The hallway was empty, Henry glanced all over, prepared to strike. But nothing tried to jump out at him. He stepped further, straining his ears for any sort of sounds and movement. He heard nothing except the ink dripping from the ceiling and creak of the floorboards. He glanced down to see a film reel near his foot. Henry gave a once over of the long corridor before dropping his guard with a long sigh.
“Haunted film reels. That's a new one.” Henry scoffed, tossing the nonperishable food in the air and catching it. He looked down the barren hallway again, huffed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Damn it. Keep it together. You're losing your mind.”
Henry glanced back to confirm that no one was around before turning away. He playfully juggled the can again. Well, looks like he got dinner, at least. He lazily turned the corner, preoccupied by future escape attempts, he glanced up from the meager meal–
To find himself standing in front of a Bendy cutout.
“Waugh!” Henry jumped back, lost his footing and fell on his backside with a gasp. He looked up, breathing heavily as the familiar, mischievous devil grinned down at him.
Henry growled and stood to his feet. In a moment of frustration, he kicked the cutout. The cardboard imp toppled over and landed with a weak thump. Henry breathed out his nose, sharply. The toothy grin fueled his irritation the longer he looked at it, he balled his hand into fists.
Henry glanced back at the cut out, the devil’s painted smile searing his soul. He turned away from the cardboard reminder of his past, his foot accidentally knocking the can he dropped from shock. Henry lowered himself to one knee and reached for the soup.
A sudden chill filled the air, causing him to freeze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight, an overwhelming sense of doom surrounded him. Against his better judgment, Henry slowly lifted his head.
The once fairly lit hallway had turned into an abyss, and poking out of the shadows was a familiar wide grin. Henry shot to his feet, hand clamping over his mouth to muffle a cry of surprise. For once, luck seemed to be on his side, for the demon hadn't spotted him. With his mouth still covered, Henry slowly backed away. The Ink Demon searched around, thankfully never checking his blind spot.
Henry moved back one step at a time, silently putting some distance between him and the monster.
Just a little bit more , Henry thought, eyeing the door behind him. He'll sneak in and wait for the demon to pass. Henry walked backwards, eyes never leaving the lurking cartoon. The artist was only a few paces to his safe haven, doorknob within reach. So focused on the predator and his objective, he accidentally found a loose floorboard.
A long, sharp creak shattered the silence. The demon whipped his head around. Henry froze in place. The Ink Demon and cartoonist locked eyes, Henry felt his heart stop.
Okay. Maybe if he doesn't move, then the demon might think he's seeing things–
The Ink Demon growled, horns lowering and flatten against his head, not unlike an alley cat. It's ink skin rippled, body lowering in preparation to pounce.
Run.
Henry took off. The demon roared behind him, an unholy screech that almost made him trip. The walls grew dark and he could just smell the flood of ink that was trying to swallow him.
Henry raced down the halls, trying to outrun the wispy shadows that were closing in on him. His fear refused to let him turn around, he knows the demon is right on his heels.
I need to hide. Henry decided, feet pounding against the wooden floors. The old man sharply turned a corner and threw open the first door that he could see and slammed it shut. Henry looked around frantically and spotted a nearby chair. He grabbed it and shoved it underneath the doorknob. He took a few steps back, breathing heavily.
There. That should buy him some time–
The light dimmed, shadows danced along the walls. The chill returned, crawling down his back. A jet-black stain appeared near the door and grew rapidly, until it practically covered the wall. The ink demon's head phased through, manic grin in place. Henry's breath caught in his throat, making him choke. He watched, helpless, as the monster emerged from the black hole.
Henry quickly scuttled back until he collided against the wall. The inky creature entered completely, his entire presence suffocating the poor man.
Weapon. He needs some kind of a weapon. A small pile of junk caught his eye. Henry glanced at the demon hobbling toward him. Taking his chances, eyes never leaving the deranged predator, the artist reached out, sending a silent prayer to whatever gods that were listening, and grabbed the first thing his hand touched. He swung his weapon out, revealing that he planned to protect himself using a…
A plunger.
Henry froze as did the Ink Demon. His wide, pearly white smile didn't falter in the slightest. An awkward silence settled between the deformed toon and former animator. Underneath the terror, Henry began to feel an inkling of shame. He must look quite ridiculous.
The tall imp twitched, then let out a deep rumble that lacked the necessary coldness for a creature like him to appear threatening. The Ink Demon body started to shake a little. If Henry didn't know any better, he could have sworn the demon is…chuckling?
Henry stared. The demon lifted a hand up to his grinning mouth, trying to stifle the sounds but failing spectacularly. The noises were too deep and dark to be giggles but Henry could not describe them in any other way, giggles. He's giggling.
He's being laughed at.
Henry blinked. The monster continued to let out throaty cackles, hunched over, shoulders jumping up and down with mirth.
Henry couldn't believe it. Here he was, practically teetering on the edge of death, with the only thing preventing him from crossing over was an old, flimsy toiletry product. And the studio's version of Frankenstein's monster was actually laughing at him.
It was ridiculous. It was humiliating. It was infuriating. It was…It was…
“...Snrk!”
Contagious.
It started off small, almost unnoticeable. Henry tried to hide it, but it was like trying to fix a popped balloon, impossible. The snickering bloomed into a horribly loud guffaw that shook his thin frame violently. His arms went slack and dropped the defensive stance, miraculously, he held onto the plunger. The small room practically shook from the creator and creations raucous laughter.
Henry grabbed ahold of his sides; the sheer insanity of his situation was finally hitting him. Henry wheezed uncontrollably, through his blurred vision he could see the Ink Demon fall to his knees, and Henry was sure he was about to join him any second.
A weak gurgle broke through the hilarity. Henry glanced down, chuckles falling out of him like a waterfall. Bendy was crouched down, large hands gripping his head. His inky frame bubbled and oozed onto the floor, like hot tar being poured out.
And he wasn’t smiling.
Henry stopped laughing, his own smile began to slowly fade. The Ink Demon kneeled before him clutching his head and let out a garbled noise that sounded so pitiful that it made his chest constrict. Ink slid down the demon’s face, a wheezy hitch pitch whine crawled out of gritted teeth.
“Hey. Are you...?” Henry started; voice just barely heard over the pained cries. Henry stared down at the distraught beast, sympathy rising within. In a moment of pity and foolishness, the artist slowly extended his hand, reaching for the space between the demon’s horns.
“Bendy–?”
The wailing stopped. The Ink Demon snapped his head up. Henry froze in place, arm still stretched out. The melancholy frown twisted into an ugly snarl. The Ink Demon hissed, his body sizzled and puffed up. The demon lunged forward, morphing his ungloved hand into talons and tried to swipe at the artist. Henry staggered to the other side, tripped over his feet and hit the floor. The claws met the walls and scratched the wood. The monster swiveled around, let out an animalistic screech before launching at the cartoonist again. Henry rolled away, adrenaline pumping in his veins again. The demon rammed into the wall, snapping the wooden planks and creating a hole. Henry scurried to a corner, holding up the plunger like a blade, legs shaking.
The Ink Demon picked himself off the ground, shaking his head. His lanky body trembled with rage. Henry tried to control his breathing, to remain quiet as possible but his foot accidentally nudged a corner of a desk. The skeletal imp jerked his head toward the noise and climbed to his feet. In a second, the ink creature made a beeline for the trapped artist.
A scream got caught in Henry's throat and he ducked, just in time for the demon's fist to drive right through the wall. He winced as bits of wood flew past and grazed his cheek. The Ink Demon screeched again, struggling to remove his arm from the hole. His adversary gave up the battle and instead made a grab for him with his other hand. Henry tried to run but it was too late. The gloved hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. Henry's legs flailed, but he couldn't gain any purchase. The Ink Demon slammed him against the wall, his head knocking against the wood. The world spun as a familiar pain seared the back of his head. Once his vision became clear again, he found himself face to face with the grinning demon.
Henry squirmed; he kicked at the emaciated torso, but his hits barely fazed the demon. Henry tried to pry the hand off his chest but that proved fruitless too, trying to grasp the slick, inky arm was like trying to grasp a pole coated in lubricant. The demon chuckled darkly and shoved him against the wall again; Henry felt his brain bounce around.
He was losing battle this fast. Through the haze of pain, he realized he was still holding something. The plunger. Henry hissed; his back bounced off the wall again. He felt his body go limp. The demon growled. His wide mouth opened wide, the flat cartoon teeth had more depth and became razor sharp. Ink dribbled off the front canines and spotted his jacket.
Henry sparked to life. With strength he didn't know he had left; he raised his arm and thrusted it upward. And, like a bullseye, the suction cup connected with the entirety of the Ink Demon's face.
The monstrous toon gave a muffled cry of surprise. Consequently, the devil’s hold was lost, and Henry fell on his butt. He grunted and scrambled to his feet. In the midst of trying to gather his bearings, the old man glanced up at the deformed imp.
The plunger was still stuck, and the Ink Demon furiously tugged the wooden handle, trying to free his face. His screaming was almost silenced with the rubber cup covering his mouth. Henry watched the spectacle. Once again, he was stunned into silence.
The Ink Demon tugged harder, the cup stretching the ink skin. Henry was worried he was actually going to rip his face off when the devil accidentally lost his grip. The plunger stayed connected and the handle bobbed, cartoonishly.
Henry felt something tickle the back of his throat. A snicker blew past his lips. Henry wrapped an arm around his stomach as he laughed uproariously.
The Ink Demon froze. Then, his skin bubbled and frothed, a low hiss emerged from the suction cup. Henry swore he saw steam lines coming from the demon's head.
Henry's amusement dropped like flies, and he immediately ran. The demon made a grab for him, but Henry was no longer within reach. He rushed to hole the devil created with his head, and climbed through, careful to not get caught on the splintered wood. After entering the next room via makeshift emergency exit, Henry threw open the door and sprinted down the hall, putting as much distance between him and the demon as possible.
An ear-splitting roar exploded behind him, rocking the entire studio. Great. He pissed him off.
Henry ran faster, the walls, doors and signs blurring together as he raced around the studio. The demon’s shrieks echoed through the halls, Henry’s legs pumped harder, desperately looking for some form of sanctuary. In his panic, he briefly wondered why no one thought to build a Miracle Station on every floor.
The Ink Demon’s unholy screeching filled the air; it didn’t sound too far away. Henry’s breath came out short and ragged as he zoomed down the endless hallway, his lungs burned from exertion, darkness poking the corner of his vision. Still, he pressed on. If he stops, he’s dead.
Henry quickly turned a corner that looked the same as every corner in the studio. As he traversed another winding corridor, it suddenly dawned on him that he didn't recognize this part of the studio. He slowed down a little, ears straining for anything other than the sound of his lungs expiring. The Ink Demon’s screaming has stopped completely. Guess he must have lost him–
Something grabbed his ankle and Henry’s body, once again, became intimate with the ground. Henry bounced, stars dancing in his eyes. His chin cracked against the wood floors; the taste of iron coated the inside of his mouth. He laid there, stunned, every part of him was burning with agony, he thinks even his clothes were aching. A low groan cut through the ringing in his head. Henry looked behind him to see a swollen searcher holding his ankle. His thick, inky body heaved with exertion as he started to pull Henry toward him.
Henry struggled weakly, he clawed at the floors, but his efforts were in vain. The mountainous, sentient blob continued to drag him back. A victorious moan filled the air.
No. Henry thought. Not this time.
Henry twisted his body, still fighting off the raging headache. He lifted his free leg and tucked it all the way in before thrusting it outward. His foot connected against the searcher's face with a wet plop. The ink sludge monster roared. Henry kicked again, this time the searcher popped like a balloon, bits of ink sprayed all over him. He staggered to his feet, breathing heavily.
Henry didn't get a chance to enjoy his victory when five more searchers popped up from the floorboards, surrounding him. Henry jumped out of their reach, narrowly escaping the blobs. Unfortunately, another batch of searchers spawned right behind him. They screeched horribly as they half crawled toward him.
This can't possibly get any worse. Henry thought, kicking another searcher.
The hallway grew dim, familiar shadowy tendrils creeped along the walls, like they were reaching for him.
Henry turned on his heel and booked it down the hallway. The shadows gave chase once again.
Henry turned a sharp corner, the inky tendrils rapidly keeping up with him. He can’t keep doing this. He needs to find a safe place to hide.
The ink veins grew closer, searchers popped up from beneath the floorboards. Henry continued to run, focused solely on escaping.
Safe place. Safe place. Safe place.
Then, in the midst of the chase, Henry’s eyes caught onto something.
…anger Ahead.
The words were blurred together from the speed in which he was running but he could still read it.
He stopped. In front of him was a metal fence, behind it was planks of wood slanted against each other, like they were holding themself up. The warning sign was lopsided, close to falling off. There was a hole in the fence, just big enough for him to crawl through.
Henry hesitated. It was too dark to see where this makeshift cave leads, and it doesn’t look very stable. Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea–
A deafening roar shook the hall, a flood of ink threatening to burst out from the walls as the ink veins slithered toward him.
Henry crawled through the hole.
Though he managed to fit, it was a tighter squeeze than he thought. The metal wires poked his sides and his jacket snagged a little. The wooden floor reeked of mold and creaked loudly with each step. The old man crawled ahead and nestled himself in a space between two collapsed beams. No sooner as he hid, the dark, tiny space was enveloped in wriggling shadows.
Henry peeked through the wood, long inky legs filled his vision, and he clamped his mouth shut. The Ink Demon breathed heavily as he stood near the hole. He couldn’t see from this angle but he imagined the demon was looking around.
The ink monster hissed as he paced in front of the hole. Henry watched, heart beating so loud he was afraid the demon could hear it too. The musk of mold and dead wood was making his head spin but he forced his breathing to stay regular. The floor groaned from his weight, he prayed that it would hold until the Ink Demon leaves.
The demented toon growled, his aura stretched forward, Henry was sure if they could, the veins would be strangling him right now. He watched the inky, long legs move closer. One knee bent down.
Henry looked away and pressed his back against the wall. He shut his eyes tight. The heavy breathing grew closer; it was as if it was right against his ear. Henry breathed sharply through his nose, sweat sliding down the back of his neck. He can see it, that smile.
Henry stayed there, eyes shut, curled into a ball in the corner. Anticipating the moment when the demon rips off the fence and drags him out.
The panting stopped. Henry waited a few more moments before slowly opening one eye. The shadows were gone, so was the Ink Demon. Henry waited, listening for any signs but other than the usual creaks of the old building, he heard nothing unusual.
Finally, Henry released all the air he had been holding into one big sigh. His entire body sagged with relief. He didn't care he was breathing stale air, he was glad he was still breathing at all.
Henry felt his body begin to grow numb, eyes drooping. He forced them awake and shook his head, roughly. No. He cannot rest. Not yet.
Henry glanced back at the hole. There was no way he's going back out there without some sort of weapon. Henry groped the walls and floor, hoping to find something of use. All he found was wood that was too rotten to be fed to termites, let alone a weapon.
Something tells me a splinter isn't going to stop that thing. Henry thought, sardonically.
Finally, his hands touched something cold, hard and…metal? Metal was good. Henry picked up the object and held it up to his face, eyes squinting in the dim light. It looked to be some sort of a tool. A wrench, maybe?
Well, whatever it is, it'll serve him better than a plank of wood.
Henry clutched the tool tightly in his hand, staring nervously at the hole. He swallowed, gathered all his nerves and began to crawl out of the crevice.
It took a lot more finessing to get out than in. Henry wriggled himself free of the chained fence, he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. He looked around, heart pounding in his chest.
There was no one around.
Henry finally allowed himself to relax a little, a hand resting on his chest, heart still pounding.
Just what the hell is going on?
The Ink Demon wasn't normally this active in this stage. What changed? And where the hell is Boris?
Henry sighed.
“Well, standing around here isn't going to get me any answers.” The old man said. “I have to keep moving. See if there's a way out.”
There is no way out.
Henry shook his head again.
The artist walked away from the cave and trudged down the long hallway. He can't just wander aimlessly anymore; he needs some sort of escape route. Or at least the closest one to it.
I need to find Boris. He decided, looking around. His bunker shouldn't be too far from where they meet for the first time. He thinks. But the problem was getting back to that point. He's run so much, he doesn't know where he is.
“I didn't think there were parts of the studio I hadn't seen.” Henry mumbled to himself. “Just how big did this place get?”
Henry continued his way, ears perking up at the slightest bit of noise. He didn't stop; he couldn't afford to. He needs to get out of the open.
As he walked, he tried to conjure some sort of map of the area in his mind, but it was all fuzzy and incomplete. All he succeeded in doing was making his head hurt. God. He's done this how many times? Why can't he have this place memorized?
Something wet plopped on his shoulder, causing him to freeze. He glanced to his left to find a glop of ink staining his jacket.
Henry huffed, annoyed. Stupid leaky pipes. He reached over to wipe off the dribble of ink. His face twisted into disgust at the thick, slimy texture. And he doesn't remember the ink being this…warm?
Henry paused. More ink fell on him, covering his shoulders, head and hair. A horrible sinking feeling began to set in. Something told him– begged him not to look up. To run and not even bother confirming what he already knows.
He doesn’t. Because he’s a fool.
Henry slowly looked up, breathing becoming very quick and shallow.
The Ink Demon was hanging from the rafters, smiling down at him, ready to pounce. A predatory growl rumbled from his chest.
Henry didn’t think about it, his legs moved on their own.
He just moved out of the way in time for the demon to drop to the floor. Henry ran away, side stepping out of the demon’s reach. The monster hissed behind him. Henry didn’t bother to turn around.
Henry once again was zooming down the endless hallway, turning corners every other second, trying to shake the imp. No ink veins danced along the walls but Henry wasn't fooled, he knows the demon is behind him.
Henry’s brain buzzed as he raced away, all coherent thoughts were out the door, only word rang in his head like a doorbell.
Hide. Hide. Hide.
Henry turned another corner, not even thinking, and skidded to a stop.
It was a dead end.
No.
Henry quickly turned around, trying to rectify his mistake, but it was too late, The Ink Demon appeared, blocking his escape.
No.
The grinning monster stepped forward, slowly. Henry stepped back. The Ink Demon continued to advance until Henry had his back against the wall. The demon stopped, his shadow loomed over the old man, smile growing wider. It was no use, he was trapped.
No, no, no, no, no!
Henry trembled, his limbs now wouldn’t cooperate with him, neither would his voice. He choked, mouth dry. The Ink Demon stepped forward again, almost tauntingly. He was toying with him. His face grew hot, hating himself for being at the toon’s mercy.
The Ink Demon moved forward again. Henry moved back but he had no way to go. He had a brief, idle thought about wishing he could faze through walls.
Come on, do something. He thought frantically, as the Ink Demon marched toward him. Anything!
“Stop,” The old man wheezed out, voice faint. The demon continued to move. “S-Stay back!”
The deformed toon stretched out a long inky arm, a terrifying grin stretching across his face. The ungloved hand morphed into razor sharp talons and was raised high.
Henry breathed in sharply and swallowed hard.
“Bendy, stop!”
The demon froze, still smiling.
Henry stared, chest heaving heavily. The d–Bendy, stared back, his expression unreadable.
“Bendy?” He repeated, the toon twitched. The name felt foreign on his tongue. How long has it been since he said that name?
“Bendy.” He said again, testing the waters. ‘Please, you don’t have to do this.”
The imp hadn’t made a single move towards him; Henry took that as a small victory. He moved closer, hand stretched out in a placating matter.
“Yeah. You don’t want to do this, right? You don’t want to fight. Well, guess what? I don’t want too either.”
Bendy lowered his arm, the smile dipping somewhat. Henry stepped closer, cautiously. This time, it was Bendy who stepped back.
“You don’t want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt anyone.” Henry said, softly. As if he was talking to a frightened animal.
“Do you remember me?” Henry asked. “Do you know who I am?”
Bendy didn’t do anything. He merely stared. His inky body began to bubble and drip profusely. A weak gurgle could be heard through the forced smile.
“Well, I know you.” Henry went on. “And the Bendy I knew, the one I created, wouldn’t do something like this.”
The imp whined. It was the same noise he made before. Henry tread carefully this time.
“Something happened here.” He said after a moment. “Terrible things.”
Bendy let out a wet noise, he sounded like a cross between a scoff and a sob.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid. I just…I just want to help you.”
His mouth was moving on its own, if he kept talking, he might just save himself. Though, he found that he was actually meaning the words he said.
“Will you let me help you?” He asked, closing the distance between him and the demon. “Please? I won’t hurt you.”
He reached out to gently touch the toon’s shoulder, trying to give a modicum of comfort. He had just barely grazed the inky skin when Bendy suddenly jerked out of his reach.
The smile on his face was gone again and he was staring down, past Henry. Henry followed his gaze.
He still had the wrench in his hand.
He looked up, Bendy bared his teeth, horns flattening against his head. A low hiss chilled him to the core.
Shit.
“No.” Henry said, trying to hide the weapon. “No, Bendy–it’s not what you think. I’m not going to–”
Bendy swung his arm back and in the next second, Henry went airborne. He crashed into the wall, pain exploded in his back, neck and head. He groaned, cross eyed.
Bendy roared, it sounded painful. His lanky body stood to full height, skin broiling with rage. The hand twisted into claws again, got on all fours and pounced.
Henry shook his head, thinking fast, he used the wrench to knock the claw that reached for him back. Bendy tried to attack again but he parried back with the tool. He kicked at the demon, causing him to jump back.
“Bendy!” Henry cried, holding the wrench out, defensively. “Bendy, STOP! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Bendy screamed, it almost sounded like a word. Then, he unhinged his jaw and lunged forward to bite.
NO!
Adrenaline shot through him like a bullet, and he jumped forward, holding onto the wrench tightly. In one swift motion, the artist thrusted the tool out and lodged it in the demon’s chest.
Bendy reeled back, an animalistic cry spilled from his lungs. He fumbled with the wrench, and clumsily pulled it out. Ink gushed out from the wound like a geyser, pooling around him. Bendy shrieked, trying to stop the flow of ink. His smile had long since disappeared, a scowl of discomfort taking its place, awful, ragged breath heaved from the skinny torso.
Henry watched him sink to the ground; he was practically in a fetal position. He…sounded as if he’s in great pain.
He can get hurt?
Henry wasn't able to ponder that thought for much longer. Bendy slowly staggered to his feet, still holding onto the bleeding wound. Henry took a chance and tried to run around the injured imp.
Bendy grabbed him by the back of his jacket and threw him back. He hit the wall again.
Bendy growled dangerously, even slightly hunched in pain, he emitted terror. Henry kept his back against the wall, desperately hoping for some sort of salvation. Bendy picked up the ink soaked wrench and tossed it over his shoulder. The tool flew through the air and lodged itself in an ink pipe.
Now he was without a weapon or an escape route.
Henry started shaking again as Bendy slumped toward him. It's over. He can't fight, he can't run–he's going to die. He's going to have to start over again.
And again. And again. And again.
A ringing started in his head, drowning everything out, including the abominable ink that was creeping closer. He'll have to do this again. And for what? Nothing? Because that's all he's found.
Come by the old studio. There's something I'd like you to see.
Why?
Why, why, why, why?
Why was this happening?
Why was he suffering so much? Why can't he win? Why is Joey doing this to him?
Something inside the artist snapped. He was tired, sore, outraged, and above all else–confused. His face burned, body trembling, lips parted to release all the emotions that were rushing through him like a rapid river.
“What the hell do you want from me?!”
Bendy stopped. Though the smile was still in place, he can tell the toon was shocked.
Henry breathed heavily, anger coursed through his veins like ants marching in a line. It felt good. Something different, something new .
For the first time in a while, he was allowed to feel .
The silence was broken by the sound of rumbling. Henry glanced at where the noise was coming from, as did Bendy.
An ink pipe shook furiously, the wrench wobbled along with it. Small streams of ink began to spray out from the tiny holes as the pressure built up.
Oh no.
Henry ducked. The ink pipe burst. There was a scream. Bendy? He didn’t know. When he looked back up a waterfall of ink took the place of the Ink Demon. In minutes, ink was up to his thigh, and there was no demon in sight.
I gotta get out of here!
Henry ran or tried to with the ink slowing him down. The Ink Demon burst out of the river of ink with a screech. Henry fell back with a shout. He moved away as the toon tried to punch him. His fist hit the floor hard. It shook.
Henry continued to crawl away, wondering if he should take his chances on swimming.
Bendy wound his hand for another strike and stopped. His horns perked up slightly. Henry paused as well. Did he hear something…?
Henry felt it before he heard it. The floor quaked uncontrollably, he felt like he was vibrating. A familiar low groan assaulted his ears, and he felt the ground beneath him give.
“Oh, come on–!”
The floor caved in; the pool of ink fell through like a dam bursting. Along with it, creator and creation fell to the darky abyss below, their screams echoing helplessly.
Henry’s world went black.