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Part 1: Its A Bad Ending Henry!

Heyo! I’d like to make a shout out to the REAL genius behind this fic, star-going-supernova! This bad end spin off wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for their fics “The Art of Being Alive” ((Its soon to be sequel! :D)) and “With Infinite Worlds, Everything Must Exist Somewhere”! Please support their amazing work!!

Word Count: 6,243

The cursed ink had been flowing over the Creator for quite some time. So much time had passed, that the waiting Prophet was beginning to actually worry about what said Creator had claimed, in his desperate scramble to stall the inevitable.

“’The only thing ‘Bendy’s’ going to be for the foreseeable future is a puddle of ink at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”

The Prophet twiddled his goopy fingers nervously. Surely, what the Creator had prophesized couldn’t be true? His Lord was unstoppable; that much he knew was true. He had been up close and personal to find that out in the past. Multiple times. No. No matter how long it might take for His return, He would come. He WILL come. And He will absorb the Creator. Who, might he add—

The Prophet’s inky mouth pulled upwards into a smirk while he turned towards The Creator’s motion-less legs still comically sticking out of the tower of ink that was bound by his Lord’s circle to keep from spilling out into the room.  

—had a brain so scrambled by the Madness, that he was certain when his Lord came to collect him, The Creator would beg to be joined with Him. 

Yes, yes. Everything is falling into place. All The Prophet had to do was wait, and make sure NO ONE got in the way of his Lord. Not again. If those pesky toons got here, they would only try to steal what rightly belonged to the Ink Demon. So. The only question was, how best to deal with them? 

~

A deep pained moan rang from the bottom of an elevator shaft. If one listened closely, a name could have been gleamed from that noise…with also a strong possibility of one or two curses afterwards. But said curses were replaced by innocuous cartoonish sound effects. To be more precise, a fog horn, a spring noise, followed by a bouncing noise. All of which were specifically addressed to the corpse crumbled in a heap beside the growling Ink Demon. Said Demon was currently gathering pieces of his inky flesh that was splattered about the floor.

When he was finally able to gather enough of his inky form to be put 80% together, the Demon slowly rose to its full 8-foot height. Not wasting any time, the creatuer gave the body next to him a swift but sounding kick that threw it out of the elevator shaft into an outside hallway. Hearing the body fly further than the Demon thought it would, its lopsided horns swiveled around as it seemingly gauged the floor that the two beings had fallen been pushed down into.

Damn it. No cut-outs were placed down here. He would have to stumble around blindly to find a wall. 

Then, he could get back to his frustratingly resistive Creator. He, and those abominable “Perfect” toons, had delayed his Creator’s destiny for long enough— 

…Hello? Is someone there?

The Demon’s horns whipped around to the echoing noise before his head could turn.

That voice…why does he hear it in ink? Had his Creator been sacrificed!? No doubt by that extremist “Prophet”. The ink must have finally liquefied any sort of rational thought left in that soft skull of his.

The Demon let out a small grating noise behind his clenched smile.

If he thought that drowning Henry was the correct way to get his attention, he was sorely mistaken. When he gets his hands on that idiotic Music Director he’s going to—

Excuse me, can you help me?

Hearing Henry’s soft confused voice mixed in that well of screaming and agony was strange, to say the least. The other voices were almost impossible to distinguish from one another, and they came from all kinds of directions. However, by listening to Henry’s single voice, the Demon could follow it for a direction to an ink puddle. Ink puddles can lead him to open pipes. Which can lead to walls, which can then be used to form his portal.

Please, I don’t know where I am! Or, WHO I am!

The Demon momentarily paused in his blind shuffling. Wait a minute. This…this inconvenience can be spun in a very interesting way.

The creature released a low pleased grumble. He supposed that Sammy did have the right idea. However, that crazed Music Director shouldn’t have taken initiative without asking for his consent. Because of this, the Ink Demon would have to break the promise he made to his Creator.

That their merging would not be a painful one.

However, to return his Creator’s humanity from the accursed ink, the Demon would have no choice but to forcibly, and excoriatingly pump the ink out of him.

There was also the worse chance that his humanity would not even restore completely from the operation; the ink staining him forever. Which meant that when the two combined, the consistency of one another’s ink would have trouble settling—each fighting to rise above the other, like oil and vinegar.

To say the least, it wouldn’t be fun for either of them.

Yet, despite the trouble that the Demon would suffer, he could not deny the many benefits this turn of events brings to the table.

The madness of the ink will not only turn Henry’s brain into a blackened mush—where no thoughts of those “Perfect” toons can resurface and distract him—but it also wears down any sort of energy he had left to resist.

This was the endgame. It was inevitable. When the two see one another again, they will be become one.

I hear you! But I can’t see you! I can’t see anything! It’s so dark…Excuse me! Please! Can’t you answer me? Hello? 

The Demon briefly considered answering the poor man, but decided to it was best to punish him for resisting him in the past, with silence. That was always the worst thing when it came to the ink well. Deafening silence to make them really question if they were finally dead or not; only to have their hopes be dashed when the screaming rose in tandem again.

Instead, the Ink Demon used the poor man’s near-constant helpless wails to guide him around the bottom floor of the studio.

Upon finally brushing his oversized cartoon hand against the rotten wood, the Demon’s ever-present grin pulled the slightest bit tighter. As he willed his portal to form against the wall, he pitifully decided to grace his Creator with a promise he intended to keep:

Don’t’cha worry Henry. I’m coming tah getcha.

~

With not enough ink in him to keep up his monstrous form, Bendy crumbled back down into his smaller stature. The inky army of music department Searchers paused in their attack, turning to their director for guidance. After carefully sizing up the exhausted toon, the Prophet, Sammy Lawrence, gave the ok for the Searchers to melt into the floor boards again—this battle was over.  

Breathing heavily, the toon watched Sammy saunter over to him; seeing nothing but bitter amazement in those glowing yellow eyes of his.

“That power you wield; it is truly a divine gift.” He spat, jealously was clearly evident in his voice.

“Not only has it allowed just enough time for that False Angel and Wolf Clone to slip away, but it also permits you to keep up such a form.”

Bendy, despite being exhausted, gave a cartoonish wave of his hand, “Psh, my giant form ain’t special. Your “Lord” looks even more monstrous than me!” Bendy said, staring down the ink man.

Sammy’s glare at Bendy morphed into a knowing look. Bendy blinked.

Oh. That. Right.

Unable to look at Sammy, Bendy frowned, “I don’t know what’cha talking about. “Bendy” can do it too, he just chooses not to.” He muttered out between breathes.

The Prophet widened his gouged-out-eyes, “Ah! But that is the difference between our Lord and you, False Savior.” Sammy leaned over the cartoon, his shadow casting darkness over him menacingly, forcing the little Demon to fearfully meet eyes with him.

“Our Lord is no L I A R.”

Bendy choked on a gasp and lowered his head in shame. He was speechless.

Sammy stared down the toon for a moment then turned away. 

“I’ll leave you alive, just so you can have the honor of feeling your connection with the Creator sever. Then be witness to when his destiny with our Lord is realized.” The Prophet threw over his shoulder as he dragged his inky feet across the recording room. 

Bendy, trying to force himself up, only splat on the ground, “Y-you’re a bigger loon than I thought if you think that Henry will go down easily! He won’t surrender to “Bendy”! Then WE’RE going to free everyone!” 

“You are the one who is a fool. You should know better than anyone that that is not how the ritual is written, there is only one Savior. And only those who have loyally served our Lord since the beginning will be chosen for ascension from this hell.” Sammy didn’t even turn to face the False Savior. He was running low on time. He had to get things ready for his Lord.

The cartoon was beginning to crawl across the floor, dragging his leaking ink behind him, “You…you won’t get away with this…Henry will stop you!”

There was a pause in the atmosphere. Then the Prophet let out a low but quickly maddening laugh. He spread him arms out to the ceiling dramatically.

“Oh! Don’t try to cloud the vision of a Prophet, False Savior! You can feel it too, can’t you? The ink has the Creator almost ready. Soon, when our Lord comes for him, it will be the end of all suffering.��� 

Sammy whipped back around and pointed an accusing dripping finger to the cartoon demon.

“And your lies won’t save you this time, Devil! Divine judgment is coming for you and everyone who ever believed in you!”

Bendy jerked back in fear; he couldn’t find anything to say in return.

Sammy, satisfied, slowly went for the door and disappeared into the dark hallway beyond.

Bendy started to feel black tears form, this was all his fault.

If only he had told Henry sooner about what was REALLY going on…

Bendy shook his head, burying his face in his oversized gloved hands.

He couldn’t help but be drawn in and stuck in his own web of lies. Playing up that everything was ok with the toons! That they could all leave the studio unscathed if they all worked together. 

What a fool he was to think the ritual could be forgotten.

The ritual was the beginning to all of this, and it would be end of it. Now it was too late. Henry would never see the light of day as himself again. All because of the cartoons’ selfishness to keep his Creator as himself.

Bendy wept.

~

The Ink Demon casually stumbled his way to the door of the room containing his Creator, it’s not like there was anyone left to get in his way now.

He felt it rippling in the ink, the connection between that “Perfect” Bendy and Henry was strained to the very brink from the cartoon’s brush with death. That pesky toon was most likely only holding on by sheer luck, or by his Prophet’s incompetence. He was disappointed that the Prophet didn’t finish the job, but incapacitating him like this would give the Demon plenty of time for what he had planned for Henry. And perhaps, when Creator and Creation were together, they both would take pleasure in melting down that toon for good.

Sensing his Lord’s presence, the Prophet opened the door for him just as the Demon got to it. 

Ah, what a wonderful sight.

Far in the back of a music department room, a large pipe was jutting out of an opening from the ceiling. Out of its mouth, poured a steady stream of ink. What kept the ink from spilling out into the rest of the room was what appeared to be a demonic pentagram—whose strength in magic was attested to the raising ink’s cylindrical shape with not a drop outside of it.

However, what was the most delicious sight, was a still pair of human legs amusingly sticking out from the ink tower. Sammy must have tied Henry to a post inside.

As the two moved over to the tower, Sammy was all too excited to give a run down to the Demon, “My Lord! Everything has been arranged for your arrival! That False Savior is out of the picture, and the Creator will most certainty be prepared to receive your blessings!” ‘Bendy’ didn’t even have to turn to see his “Prophet” stare worshipfully at him—what a stooge. 

The Demon growled a bit, “I can see dat. And what of dos otha toons?”

The former music director looked down to his feet then to the side in shame, “W-well, you s-see m-my Lord…They, um, t-they-got-away BUT! Not for long, ha ha, my-my Searchers are looking for them a-as we speak!” 

So the Angel got away, eh? No matter, she’s not a huge issue. Unless, of course, she happens to run into those two renegade human-toons. If that was the case, either Sammy needed to find and take care of that runaway toon before then, or “Bendy” would annoyingly need to hurry this merging along and take care of it all when he was whole.

“Don’t disappoint me Lawrence, I’da ratha not have tah teach ya what happens tah dos that disappoint me, understand?”

The Prophet nodded nervously, “Yes, my Lord! I-I-I underst-tand! I will not fail you!”

“Good.”

The Demon made it to the outskirts of the pentagram, while Sammy stayed off to the side—giving his Lord His respectable space. “Bendy” sensed around for a weak point in Sammy’s drawn demon circle, finding it underneath Henry’s legs. Gently, he kicked his Creator’s legs out of the way and disrupted the circle.

Like the popping of a balloon, the tower of ink fell. Its ink cascaded over the pentagram lines, and emptied out into the room. The excess ink sloshed against the Demon’s feet, which encouraged Sammy to rush and pull the lever behind the Creator to stop the flow, before he inconvenienced his Lord anymore than he already has.

As the lever was pulled up again, the ink flow slowed to a halt, revealing the prize underneath. The Creator, long since freed from being tied to the post, could have easily been mistaken for a true ink monster. His hair was clumped in black tendrils that stuck to his face and covered his closed eyes. His skin and clothes from his head to his thighs were dyed completely black from the sludge. Remnant ink droplets from the mouth of the above pipe hit the top of his head. 

Suddenly, a loud reverberating groan was heard overhead as the ink flow pressure was officially tightened back up. This noise also seemed to be enough to make the man sitting below stir.

Henry slowly pried his ink sealed eyes open, blearily taking in the scene around him. The familiar ink that had been his prison for…wow, God knows how long…was puddled around the room. Looking down at himself, he first noticed…oh, what are those things?

He lifted the appendage and flexed the extended digits on it. Turning the base left and right, Henry was marveled about the in sync movement the shapes shared. If only he could capture this movement, he could watch it forever.

Sammy watched from behind, as the Creator was amazed by his simple hand movements. In his yellow eyes, there reflected a distant sort of understanding. Yes. In the first few moments since returning from Madness, even dust was more intellectually stimulating. In that Godless nightmare realm, there was no “you”. There were only the screams of the damned, which marked the passage of time from the deafening silence.  

Eventually, the Creator’s glazed eyes drifted forward to the misshapen legs of the being in front of him. His gaze traveled up the Demon’s great height, only to rest dizzyingly on that jittery smile.  

“Heya Henry! Long time no see, huh?”

Interestingly, the voice Henry heard didn’t seem to blatantly come from the creature standing before him. Except, it sounded like it echoed straight into his head.

“Pretty neat trick, eh? Dat’s anotha one of those benefits of sitting in da ink too long, you can-a start tah hear my voice despite der being no physical contact between us.”

The Demon’s deep voice chuckled, sending waves of fuzziness to his already muddled mind. The body in front of him tilted his head.

“Wasn’t always like dat. You were too human before tah get in direct contact with, so I had to get up close and personal wit ya.”

Henry blinked stupidly, what was this guy talking about? Human? Him? All he remembered was ink. That’s all he was before, and all he is…right?

And something else distantly ringed in Henry’s mind…was it a memory? He was floating in a void. Which wasn’t that unusual, he was always in an ink void. But this place, it wasn’t at all like the ink well, where many people’s screams plagued him, pain clung to his very soul, and dragged him down. No. This place in his memories wasn’t even a void. There was another being there…Yes! A being that protected and loved him, and made sure he never felt alone, because they would be together forever. 

The Creator’s black stained eyes widened as the dots connected. That voice, and this creature in front of him…they were one in the same. He has come to save him. Just like all those voices in the ink well had cried out for. The Savior. HIS Savior.

“Our Lord has finally come to save you, Creator.”

Henry slowly turned behind him to take in the other being in the room, who, he realized, was one with the ink as well.

Sammy, taking in Henry’s blank expression, puffed his chest out, “Be joyful! Despite all the many obstacles Our Lord has endured, He has not forgotten you, little wayward sheep!” 

Wayward? Did he not want to be saved before? Why?

As if hearing his thoughts, the ink man continued, “Even though those heretics—who believed that you weren’t worth being saved—stole you away from Him everytime He had you within His loving embrace, our Lord never gave up on you!”

Heretics? His ink-softened mind didn’t give him many ideas on what the man claimed, besides a couple blurred images of black and white shapes.

“As He is as persistent as He is immortal, our Lord will shepherd the lost sheep to where they rightfully belong. And He has a divine plan for you, Creator; one that will come to fruition, at last.”

While wholly focused on the ink man, Henry didn’t notice how the Demon began to turn and glare at the Prophet. How dare he speak to the Creator in his presence? Didn’t he know when to take a hint?

Finally noticing his Lord’s deathly aura, the ex-music-director gulped and shut his trap.

As if his piece was said and done, Henry watched as the ink man bow and move to the background. Henry’s empty stare followed him until the Prophet disappeared behind his exceedingly tall grinning Lord in front of him.

Suppressing his annoyance, the Demon cleared his throat to gain Henry’s attention back, “Dat Sammy was always one fora dramatic flare; I’ll give ‘em dat. But what he’s says ain’t too off base.” His Lord didn’t move a muscle as He spoke, but His way of speech put an image in Henry’s mind. An image about a possible pose He would have taken, if He was capable of being more expressive. It would be…a lackadaisical one! One that would have been carelessly throwing a pointing thumb over His shoulder at the retreating ink man, perhaps even a pitiful shake of the head to boot.

While Henry’s mind sluggishly mulled over the possibilities of expressions—like any true cartoonist—his body sat calmly as his Lord limped over to him. His smaller hand reaching out to Henry. The black fingers gently grasped Henry’s chin—waking Henry from his derailing thoughts—turning it to and fro as the grinning head tilted in tandem. Was his Lord looking for something?

“Well, would’ja look at dat! Looks like some of your humanity was able tah withstand da ink after all. Ya really are somethin’ special! Lucky you, I won’t have tah pump ya after all.”

With his other gloved hand, his Lord swiped the inky hair out from his face, removing the black sludge that took over his vision. And for the first time(?), he saw his Lord in His inky glory, and the Creator’s previously-still heart soared.

Wait.

This feeling, it wasn’t joy from seeing his Savior…It felt like…Oh my God…he can’t breathe.

As if something violently awakened in him, Henry surged forward, and narrowly missed, throwing up all over his Lord. What seemed like gallons of ink emptied out of him and onto the floor, followed by the sludge that was caked onto his person. Leaving behind a patchwork of human skin and remnant ink that refused to leave him. All the while, the Demon waited ever so patiently for his attack to settle. Even going so far as to pat his back every so often after an especially bad retch. Wasn’t his Lord just he most caring?

Weakened after the action, Henry was a shivering miserable mess. Black drool, which in all likelihood was ink mixed with his blood, dripped from his mouth. His lungs and his throat burned from expelling the ink, and that’s when he truly began to feel the aches of his joints, creaking brittle bones and strained old muscles. Before it had all been a dull pain, but now it felt like his body was a live wire. However, all he could focus on was how LOUD it was now. There was a steady but violent thumping noise that rang in his ears.

DEAR GOD HE WANTED IT TO STOP! IT WAS SO LOUD! I HATE THIS! IT HURTS! I’M TIRED! I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS! I HATE THI— 

“Being human ain’t all it cracked up to be, eh, Creator? So much pain and suffering, hell, the world revolves on da stuff! People hurting one anotha left and right just tah get a little furtha in life. I’ll tell ya, it be a wolf eat wolf world out der.”

The suffering man could barely hear a word of His voice through the shooting pains and his heart desperately thumping to flush the inky poison from his veins. It was always like this before; memories are starting to come back to him as the ink clears from his mind. He was always in constant pain and in an endless battle to ignore old scars. His leg burned like hell fire. Couldn’t he just rest? He just wanted to finally be free from it all.

“Now I got a deal for ya Henry. One you’da be stupid tah pass up.” The Demon velvet tone of voice turned to a vicious spat at that last part. It was as if someone had refused Him before. 

His Savior’s body leaned over him in the slightest bit. He was about to whisper something secret to him that He didn’t want the nosy ink puddles to hear.

“Would you like for all dat pain tah end?”

Henry’s eyes shot open from being tightly shut, and he began to unfold from his ball—when had he curled up?—to look at his Lord. He could do that? He could make it all stop? It could be finally be over?

Hearing his Creator’s hopeful thoughts, the Demon’s large hand clapped him on the back. “Course’ I can, Creator! And I’ll do ya one bettah! Aftah we merge, how’s about we go pay a visit tah ya old pal Joey Drew and set dat old Liar straight, once and for all!” 

Ah yes, it was hard to forget that household term. That name and title was often repeated in the ink well. Countless voices all hatefully screaming for vengeance. Vows of dismemberment were one of the most popular. However, it wasn’t uncommon to hear other forms of colorful torture. 

But something else stuck with Henry about what the Demon said. That they would “merge” together. Was that his “Divine Plan” that the ink man, Sammy, talked about before?

While the majority of him was on board with the deal, given that the Demon was true to His word—but why would his Savior deceive him in anyway? —there was a tiny piece of him that cried out that ((this was wrong)). ((He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong to anyone. He needs to escape. Leave now! Call for their help!)) ...Who’s help? And why?

“What’da’ya say Henry? You ready tah come ‘Home’?”

That word triggered a proper memory. One that had Henry feel like he could melt into the floor. ‘Home’ was wonderful. ((It’s a prison!)) There were no worries that plagued him. ((That’s because you weren’t allowed to think!)) He was loved and protected there. ((It’s not love or protection when others get hurt for your selfishness!)) All his pain melted away. ((Because you were being dissolved like an Alka-Seltzer!))

Despite hearing the other voice rave in his mind, Henry looked up at the Demon reverently and nodded.

There was no hesitation or any warning when the Demon’s gloved hand shot out and engulfed his face. 

Wow…this is almost like…déjà vu…

 ~

Without even opening his eyes, Henry the Creator, found himself “awaken” to a familiar dark abyss. But he wasn’t in the ink void this time. He was ‘Home’.

On cue, those familiar feelings of warmth and protection began to set in ((like a snake constricting its prey before it eats them whole)). However, the Creator suddenly felt a sharp sting in his mind, like a rubber-band was being pulled too far, as an unknown(?) high-pitched ((pained?!)) voice pierced through the hazy veil.

NO! Henry, NO!...Please don’t....!.Henry don’t...!..............don’t go!!  

A distant splashing sound was heard as the voice was smothered.

More annoyed than shocked by the intrusion, the Creator’s mind tagged that voice as most likely being one of those ‘heretics’ that Sammy had talked about before.

They thought that he was worthless. That he didn’t deserve to find peace. Why?…Why couldn’t they just let him be happy?!

“Dat’s right Henry, dos goons only held’ja back. But don’t’cha worry, ain’t nobody coming for ya now! You belong tah me.”

Buzzing noise filled Henry’s head at that word. Like memories wanting to surface but something was blocking them from flooding out.

Belong?

Belong.

Belong!

Belong?!

Henry’s head started to pound. That noise in the back of his head was getting louder.

“No…”

“No?”

Putting his hands to his head he applied pressure to try and settle himself, “Wait…wait, this doesn’t feel right…? I feel like there’s something…someone? I’m forgetting…?”

“Creator, ya tired, why not get’cha some rest—“

Seeing past the Demon’s diversion Henry pushed on, “No! There’s something not right here! What are you hiding from me?”

“I ain’t try’n to hide somethin’ from ya! I’m just’a saying ya need tah take a load off!” There was definitely something wrong here. His Lord was now openly trying to distract him, but why?

Henry decided to call him out on it, “Now you’re lying!”

The accusation silenced the two, a silence that quickly evolved into a tense pause. Each was daring the other to speak first.

“He can’t have you.” The Demon spoke; his blatant omission of slang made Henry shiver.

“You have me now, and I have you!” He insisted like a child. “He had multiple chances to merge with you! But ohhhh no! He’s “Perfect”! He “doesn’t need to merge with you”! PAH! He’s an even worse Liar than Drew!”

Henry was speechless.

“He hid it well, but that Bendy you knew was the real Liar! He wasn’t “Perfect” and no matter how far he pushed himself to appear “Perfect”, he would always feel that bit, that one thing that’s missing. We all feel it! But no longer. When I merge with you, Creator, when we are finally whole, we will set EVERYONE FREE, AS ONE.”

The dam broke.

Memories of a little cartoon demon with a devilishly cute angel came flooding back. The two helped him survive the many dangers of the studio. Joey Drew’s studio. Joey Drew who asked him to come back. Joey Drew who wanted to play “God” with him. And “Bendy”, who stood next to him, and was sent to kill him. But his perfect toons, yes, HIS PEREFECT toons, found him and took care of him. And he took care of them. They were going to help everyone and put a stop to Joey and “Bendy” together. And Norman…he sacrificed himself to save Henry even after everything that happened to him in his absence.

This was wrong. How could Henry let this happen? Has he lost his mind!?

And the lies the Demon was spinning now to get him to be compliant in becoming a monster with him. Disgusting. Henry was overwhelmed with shame.  

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong! You’re WRONG!! THIS IS ALL WRONG! Let me out of here!” Henry cried, thrashing himself around to free himself of the powerful wraps of warmth around him. But as soon as he got one tendril off of him, another soon took its place, tighter than before.

Frustrated, Henry let out a yell, “LET ME OUT OF—WHHOooaaa”

A wave of unexpected calm overtook Henry, unbalancing him. This was enough of a distraction for the wisps to wrap around him completely, squeezing him like snake, and successfully pinning him.

“Ya need tah relax, old man. Ya only stress’n ya self out.” The Demon’s slang was back, which only infuriated Henry more—“Bendy” thought that he had one up on him. 

Henry grit his teeth, wiggling in the embrace, “Like Hell I will! If you think I’ll give up so easily, you’re mistaken. I won’t stop until I know my toons are safe!”

 “Oh, is dat all? I can answer dat for ya!”

Multiple pie-cut-eye-shaped-windows opened around the inky void. Henry frowned, these were probably “Bendy’s” eyes from the many Bendy cut-outs placed throughout the studio. The most eerie thing about these windows though, that Henry didn’t know about prior, is that they can apparently move despite being a cut out.

When the eyes didn’t show what “Bendy” was looking for, they ‘blinked’ out of existence. Only for another pair of eyes to open in their place. This went on for a bit, until they found an image of what appeared to be a wounded Alice Angel, hiding almost out of the cut-outs sight. Another pair of eyes was focused on a puddle of bubbling ink on the ground. While another showed a Boris clone strapped down to a table, his rib cage laid bare. And another showed a deformed Butcher Gang huddled around a fire.

“Alice!” Henry cried, wanting more than anything to help her.

Henry could hear “Bendy’s” smile widen, “She can’t hear ya, Creator! While mah cut-outs are good eyes, dey ain’t much for speech or hearin’.”

Henry felt like he was watching a silent black and white movie of his toon. Alice was patching up a scuff on her knee, silent black tears dripped down her beautiful face. Suddenly, she twisted her head to a direction beyond the cutouts sight, as if she heard a noise. Slowly, the Angel eased herself to her feet and ran “off screen”. The eyes closed.

Henry looked between the rest of the eye windows, trying to find his little devil darling in either of them. His eyes didn’t want to look at the window that showed an ink puddle, “…Where’s Bendy?”

“Open your eyes Henry! He’s sittin’ right der in centah frame!”

Sadly, Henry turned back to look through “Bendy’s” eyes, to the gurgling puddle of ink on the floor. Not wanting to believe what he saw. No…It couldn’t be…

The Demon read his mind again, “But it is! It ain’t no laugh’n mattah strain’n ya ink powers! But don’t’cha worry about ‘em Henry, he ain’t dead. Well, not yet, tah say. I think we should have da honor of doin dat when our union is complete.”

Henry glared, “Over your dead body!”

There was an echoing laugh, “Give it time, give it time! I’m sure you’ll see tang’s my way eventually. Just gotta break ya down a lil!”

“I won’t be swayed. Watch me.” Henry promised, which made the Demon chuckle more.

Due to Henry not actively struggling anymore, the tendrils loosened their grip on the Creator. Back to the point where it was similar to a gentle embrace, rather than a suffocating death-grip. Henry, while he would never voice it, was relieved at the action, and was inclined to not give “Bendy” another reason to do it again.

“Ya know, speaking of time, don’t cha’ tink it’s time for dis lil song and dance routine tah end? It’s time for da grand finale!” At the end of the Demon’s words, all of his “eyes” shut simultaneously.  

“No! Wait! What do you meannnn….?”

Another cascade of peace washed over Henry, derailing the man’s train of thought. The suddenness of the wave also making him lean more into those wraps of warmth.

“S-stop that…” Henry muttered woozily. The more he was hit by those waves, the more he was likely to pass out.

“Stop what? Dis is what ya wanted, ya didn’t wanna tah feel anythin’ anymore, and I’m just fulfillin’ dat promise.”

“What I want is to be let out of here.” He argued weakly.

“Well, ya a lil too late tah back out of da deal now, Creator. Look down,”

Confused, he peered down at his body, however, he couldn’t see much past the oversized white bow-tie he now donned. But from what he could see, he now wore a pair of big black shiny boots, just like his Bendy wore.

Starting to shake, Henry brought his hand, that not too long ago he had been stupidly awed by, to his face. Noticed immediately that he was now wearing a white cartoon glove, and from its wrist sleeve thick black ink crept up his arm.

“Soon you and I will be apa’t of one anotha, at a level dat nothing could separate us again. Der’s no escape. Dis was always inevitable.”

Hyperventilating—he could breathe here? —Henry struggled with all of his might to pull the gloves and boots off of him, only to end up winded by even the slightest effort.

“It’s dat ink ya sat under for so long dat’s wearing ya down.” The demon explained with a chuckle.

“S-shut it!” Henry huffed out, pulling at the garments like an animal.

“Ya breakin’ mah heart ovah here! Ya don’t have tah make dis har’da dan it has tah be, Creator. We don’t have tah merge on bad terms, ya know?” The Demon sing-songed—like a cat does to a mouse with a broken leg—sending another wave of overwhelming peace to Henry.

Barely keeping his eyes open, Henry stilled his efforts, hung his head low, and sighed.

Maybe the Demon is right. Maybe it was finally time to hang it up. It wasn’t so bad in here, he would finally be free from all the suffering and confusion the waking world had to offer. He would be even being apart of something greater than himself—Creator and Creation being together as one.

Henry whipped his head up to the surface of the void and glared with a ferocity that he could feel made the Demon flinch.

“Hear me, Devil, and mark my words to your inky core. No matter what happens to me, my hate of you, and all you stand for will be eternal. Even if we merge into some stupid amalgamation, I will not allow myself to end here.”

The Demon watched over silently as his Creator turned back to his work with renewed vigor. That is, of course, until he was completely consumed.  

In the distance, the sound of an overly strained rubber band snapped.

~

A glistening ink puddle sloshed too and fro in the room.

Slowly it eased itself into a momentum, which, interestingly, mimicked someone trying to get up from laying down, but failing to summon the will to actually do it.

Finally, a large white gloved hand, joined by another, shot out and firmly clung the flooring. Both gripped the wood as if fearing that if they slipped, they would fall back into the ink puddle again.

Pulling itself up, a whistling laugh was heard as a horned head emerged. Ink dripped from his head, down his face and onto the floor as the creature crawled out of his puddle.

Eventually the 6ft entirety of of the creature was sprawled out, gasping for breath.

Wiping the excess ink off of his black pie-cut eyes, Bendy wheezed, “Jeez-la-weez, ya weren’t kidding der Henry, you can really put up one hell’a’va fight!”

On cue, Bendy’s head stung a bit.

“Still given me what for from da inside, eh? War must’a made’ja a fightah, I like it!”

~

Just a note, I did tweak a couple of lore things that were brought up in the original fic so I could fit in some of my reasoning’s for plot points. For one thing, my Ink Demon portrayal, while he is a slippery little devil, I like to play him up as someone who hates to lie and being called a liar. He won’t go out of his way to try to feed you false information, even if its for his gain. He might lie by omission or try to distract you from it from time to time, but generally he’s pretty up front. Take this information as you will. >:)

Also. I’m still a piece of garbage, and this is still a bad end! Don’t let my setting up for a possible continuation be misconstrued for a hopeful ending. Henry or anyone else for that matter, has not and will not win in this spin off. Ever!

If you enjoyed this and want more, bother me here!

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“Dance with me, Henry!”

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I like ninja46464′s NovaHD fusion monster :>c

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will I have enough energy to rig and animate? *shrugs*

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I really have no idea if I have the strength within me to finish Dipper and Mabel’s room, but I felt bad that I didnt even get to show what I HAD done, so I guess here’s a half assed 3D model post lmao

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Who is this edgy boi? And why do I love him so?