An Inkwell's Stain //BATDR Fanfiction\\ [Male Reader]

Chapter Twelve: Spiritual Encounters and Morals

'Hello?' You called out, from a strange and gurgling voice called out to you. It wasn't the same as the multiple voices you heard before, the ones that told you to break the canister. No, this voice was clear in your mind, a gurgling mess of madness. 'Who are you?' You shook in fear slightly; the voice had a certain edge to it that you didn't trust.

A growl sounded and you felt its consciousness drift away from yours, leaving you alone. What was that? You sigh and tighten your grip on your Gent Pipe, getting ready to thrash at the lock on the door.

You'll find that out soon enough, impatience isn't going to help you... benevolent one.

The sudden answer made you jolt, hitting the lock harder than you meant. It bent inwards, making the chain fall off and the lock fly. You let out a small squeak as a piece of metal flew at your face. Thankfully, you had scrunched up your eyes enough to block it from entering. You stopped and waited to see if the voice would say anything to follow up, but it decided not to. Strange... it wasn't the same as the one before... it sounded clearer.

Walking forward, you found yourself staring at a Bendy cut out. You smiled, remembering your mother. She was drawing a small part from an old short called "Cheap Seats" before you left, one of your favourite original Bendy shorts when you were younger. You missed her, you missed her drawing, her teachings... her smile... now all you had was Bendy's to look at. And while it was adorable in the shorts, it now reminded you of just how far away you are from home.

You shifted your gaze away from him, trying to lighten your mood. A lever stood on the wall opposite him, which certainly gave you some confidence. We're getting somewhere, alright. Tugging the lever down, the rolling door lifted for you. Roof beams had collapsed in your way, but you could crouch underneath them to get through quite easily.

The room before you was flooded with ink, up to your waist. You felt nauseous seeing how much was in the room, a couch was floating in the stuff for Pete's sake! You swallowed and slid your foot slowly into the room, surprised by how much your foot dropped. While you were practically made of the stuff, it still felt wrong to just go troddin' in it. It was very hard to get through, you had to heave your feet and get through the muck. Debris was floating around in there, you could feel chunks of wood clawing at your shins as you waddled through.

A nauseous wave hit you, making you tilt and rest your body weight against the wall beside you. Aren't you being a bit dramatic? You realised this nausea wasn't from the ink, but what was from inside.

Curious... not the host we were looking for at all...

'H...huh?' you murmured, trying your hardest not to throw up.

A child... a kind soul...

'Please... what is going on? Help me...' You felt your knees weaken at the intensity of their voices, swirling around. It was the same voices that told you to break the canister, the same voices who made you stronger.

You will make an interesting experiment... The Dark Puddles send a gift...

A feeling of pain rose up your legs from the ink, making you cry out. 'Stop! It- it hurts-'

You are one of us now, descendant of the creator... our kin... Spread our darkness, it calls... it calls...

All of the pain left travelled up your legs, into your torso, and into your left hand's palm. 'Please...' You scrunched up your eyes and balled your hands into fists to withstand the agony enveloping you. You screamed at the pain, begging it to go away.

It was all too much. Your legs dropped down, the ink was now up to your chin as you sat in it, trying to cope. But after another wave of nausea, all of pain was gone.

'...Wh...' you held your head as you tried to get rid of the ringing in your ears. 'Hhng...' you relaxed your shoulders and stood up, slowly.

Looking around you, the eerie silence became all too noticeable. You didn't like it. The couch that stood before you was still floating, bobbing up and down slightly. A bendy plush sat alongside a familiar book. A very, very familiar book. "The Illusion of Living" was the title, which you remembered to be one of the artefacts on the pedestals. Joey wrote this. You ran your fingers along its surface. It was the cleanest thing you could see in here.

To the left of you, you noticed that there was no ink, so you bounded as fast as you could over to it, desperate to get out of the thick ooze. Air blew out of your mouth as you felt the sweet sense of relief. A lone battery sat on the table beside you, so you quickly swiped it before you continued, along with a few stray Slugs. A door blocked your way, but you were determined enough to get through.

You rest your hand on the door handle, only to be shocked by a ghostly, dripping figure's face jumping up at the glass window on the door. You yelped and stepped back as it pounded at the glass, only smearing ink across it, making you unable to see it. Listening, you heard the pounding stop and the sound of a slushing figure dragging itself along the floor, away from you. Slowly, you turned the door's handle and opened it, to see a dripping mass of ink clawing at the wall in front of you.

You didn't quite understand what it was doing until you remembered something. "Searchers are always confused... poor things. They don't know what's happening, they just try to get rid anything they see. They are always searching, looking for a purpose... but all leads up to nothing," Alice had told you, which made you somewhat sad. "Searchers are the ones with no legs, right? Tend to swarm, like you said?" you asked, tapping your pen on the notebook handy. She smiled. "Exactly. There's not much negotiating with those things. Just leave them alone and they'll leave you alone."

So, if I'm quiet, I can just leave it alone? You slowly creep up behind it so you can go around the corner to keep going, but nausea hits you like a ton of bricks again.

Y/N... Now's your chance to prove yourself...

The voices muffled together in a scratching symphony, and your hand started to ache.

Kill it, and prove to us you'll be a worthy bringer of darkness...

Only now did you notice what was written on the walls the Searcher was clawing at. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO KILL ME". Your heart ached at those words. Your hand started to glow, the luminescence the same colour as your eyes. It burned, but it didn't hurt anymore... it felt right, yet oh so wrong...

'I... I don't want to...' you muttered to the voices, clutching your hand tightly in your grasp. It didn't do anything to me!

Y/N, don't make us regret giving you this ability... do it... now...

Your heart started to spin and your body ached, as if the ink inside you was trying to pull you apart. 'Ow... ow ow ow... Okay! Okay...'

Leaning slightly, you held out your hand, bringing it closer to the Searcher, the pain reduced the closer you went. But as you got closer, you noticed your hand get hotter. What will this do to the poor thing? No. You draw your hand back and thrust your GENT Pipe down into the creature. It shuddered, then fell to the ground. You rested your hand down on it, but only thought of peace. You remembered your mother, her art, the studio... home... your heart felt warmer, and your hand got colder.

This isn't right... Stop... now...

You felt the soul of the Searcher fly away, away from this dreaded place. 'No more torture, no more sorrow...' you said, lifting your hand away from the dissolving ink.

Traitor of The Dark Puddles... you did not heed out warning... we unleash hell onto traitors... just you wait... just you wait...

The voices ceased and quietened, the ringing in your ears stopped, and the pain in your body relaxed. You stood up, flexing your fingers to calm them down.

'Then I'll be ready, oh "Dark Puddles" for whatever you have in store.'