[Something screams in the dark.]

\

Up on the walkway, appearing from just out of sight, The Ink Demon limped into view. Its club foot dragged its gait to an uneven crawl, perfect grin in place and unmoving. Motes of feathery black plumed up behind it with every step as it made its way to the stairs. Slow work, unless it wanted something.

Sammy tensed as his ex-lord reached the floor they were hiding on. He wished for the trembling that was building in his limbs to fade, the terror to stop. The beast couldn't get into the booths, Henry had said so. He'd seen it himself some loops back… but now, Sammy was on the opposing side of the Demon. No longer a worshiper but a pariah… all packed up in a gift box with a halo on top.

Henry glared out at the demon, hazel eyes focused, even as Sammy's cool body pressed damply to his back. It made sense now why the ink man had turned down hiding out with him not long ago; cramped… and Sammy seemed averse to being touched. But the matter at hand; the beast walking their way. The Ink Demon scanned the room, mismatched hands raised up and bent.

Just before the Miracle Station, the Ink Demon paused. It growled low enough to be felt more than heard, cracking as it stood tall. Slowly, it looked into the rectangular slot in the miracle booth. It lacked eyes, but Henry could have sworn it was looking right at him, a scant foot away. From the depths of its being, the beast let out two, drawn out growls… then slammed its gloved hand on the miracle station hard enough that it shook. No sooner had it done so did it thunder out of the room, taking its rings and motes with it.

Light returned to the room. Henry was acutely aware of the set of arms around his stomach. He sighed and patted an arm around his waist. "We're good."

Sammy quickly let go and Henry stepped out of the station, then glanced around the room. In the hundreds of iterations, the Ink Demon had never done that.

The ink man crept out of the darkness, shoulders hunched. His broken mask fixed back onto Henry, gripping his ax with a tremble in his wrist. The Ink Demon hadn't scared him that deeply in some time. He usually bowed and stayed out of the way, silent save for prayers muttered to the floorboards. But now he was helping the supposed enemy. Who knew what could happen if the Ink Demon got him on his own. "I can't say I want to do that again." Two men and two axes did not a comfortable booth make!

Henry frowned and nodded. "Something changed."

"Yes?"

"It's never hit the booth." At Sammy's cocked head, he continued softly. "It knows I'm in one when I have to deal with the Projectionist, but that's… I don't wanna call it different, but it's not like this." He gave the ink man his full attention, brows furrowed over wide eyes. "Does it know when someone's in a booth?"

"I…" Sammy sighed, shoulders slumping. "I don't know, my little sheep. I can't see what it sees."

"... how does it even see? I can't find eyes on it and I've had it in biting range."

"The cutouts. Don't- don't ask me how that works."

The cartoonist gave a strained smile. "It's okay if you don't know."

Henry was not the Ink Demon. Henry would not harm him. Sammy sighed. "I don't… but heaven knows, I wish I did." The ink man lifted his head and tilted it in question. "What comes now?"

Henry lifted his own ax, brows sinking in a frown. "Butcher clones and searchers on level nine."

"Again?"

A nod. "Yup."

They headed back to the elevator. Buddy stood in the back, eyes covered and knees knocking like the devil himself was about to strike him down.

"Buddy, it's okay."

The wolf peeked at the two of them from a gap in his gloves, and slowly unfolded from his curled-up surrender.

Sammy stepped into the elevator and carefully raised a hand to the wolf. "You're alright?"

Buddy nodded and pointed at Sammy with a cocked brow.

The ink man nodded back, missing Henry's fond smile aimed their way as he hit the button for level nine.

The musician's left hand tapped out a waltz as he pondered. "What's after this?"

"Level fourteen with the Projectionist."

Sammy heaved a sigh. "Fantastic." Funny how the memory of being ripped in half by that creature was one key to remembering Henry's multiple loops. Sammy still didn't want to deal with old light head, though.

Level nine greeted them soon enough. Buddy as usual stayed behind in the lift, content to hang back and cover his eyes if spooked.

Henry opened his mouth to say something but shut it as he headed to exchange the ax for a pipe. He had found that he could delay the inevitable and hold on to the ax for several minutes before the angel would snark at him, but now? There wasn't a point to delaying it. He exchanged the ax for the pipe, and like clockwork, the angel shouted down at them.

"The disgusting wretches have wandered my halls, have gone unchecked! They're trying to drag me back to the darkness! Don't let them take your angel! Purge them, one by one! Smash them into puddles! Kill them!"

Henry held the pipe ready and watched where he knew they'd come. "Get ready."

Sammy raised his ax and held it out to Henry. "Take it."

"Why-" Three monstrosities trundled down the steps and charged their way.

"Take it!" He held his other arm out for the pipe.

Henry traded without another protest and met the twisted trio head on with Sammy close behind. They waddled and jabbered, but they didn't unnerve him like they used to. Nothing unnerved him anymore.

The ax caught a striker between the teeth in its head, and it shattered into a puddle of black. Beside him, Sammy slammed the pipe into the piper chattering its teeth his way. It landed a blow to his knee and was silenced with a swing of the pipe and an indignant shout.

The fisher knocked Henry backwards and charged; the head swinging wildly as it snapped its jaws at his face. He swung and made contact, launching the head several feet away. It still gnashed its teeth even as it blackened and flew through the air!

Sammy charged and kicked the fisher with a growl before bashing it with a two-handed barrage of angry pipe blows. Still stood arched and ready to go another round, the ink man reached out a hand to Henry to help him stand.

"I had him." Henry took the cool, inky hand offered to him.

Sammy grasped the warm hand of the cartoonist and hoisted him to his feet. "I'm sure you did."

"So quiet. Like a welcoming grave. I like the silence, don't you?"

"Can't get a word in edge-wise." He turned the broken Bendy mask to Henry with a gesture of surrender, arms spread and head at an angle. "She has to have the last word, doesn't she?"

"Just be glad she can't hear us." At least… he hoped she couldn't. The cartoonist was already walking back down the steps and over to the elevator with Sammy close behind.

The angel continued, her deep, burbling undercurrent rising from her throat. "I hate leaving work unfinished! Fortunately, I have you two to pick up the pieces. But you'll have to go even deeper. Down, down, down, into the abyss. Take the lift down. Say hello to an old friend."

Down they went. Funny, having someone to talk to who could speak back for once made Henry realize just how tedious the role of errand boy was. Soon, the Projectionist's realm, one of blackness and screaming, came into sight. The elevator came to a halt, and Henry walked out, hazel eyes focused on the darkness out beyond the platform.

"Shh... there he is. The Projectionist. Skulking in the darkness. You be sure to stay out of his light, if you don't want trouble. Just bring me back the pieces I need."

Hands on the rail, Henry grimaced at the dark. Out there, Norman Polk lumbered on, beam bright and seeing all. Below… ink. Deep ink that could harm or consume his companion. "Sammy?"

"Sheep?"

Henry glanced over his shoulder. "The ink goes to my knees. Can you handle that, or is it too much?"

"You needn't worry, little sheep. I can safely say I'm tougher than I look." But the fact that he cared enough to ask warmed his nonexistent heart. Sammy headed into the ink, feeling the icy blackness press into the fabric of his overalls but not seep into it. Just what were those pants made of? He turned back to Henry. "What parts does Malice Angel need?"

Henry reached for the heart resting on the dismembered Butcher clone on the barrel, eliciting a screech from far beyond his sight. "Hearts."

"How many?"

Henry went down after him. "Five. Er, four at this rate." He grimaced at Sammy and tucked the heart into his pocket. "The one good thing about the Projectionist is he forgets you're there after you're out of his light."

"That explains a lot, actually." The musician trudged forward into the ink, turning over his shoulder to call to Henry. "Can he hear?"

"Doubt it. If he can, he ignores it."

Sammy paused, then turned to the lumbering figure out in the dim dark. "Hey!" He called out, and immediately tensed, pipe raised.

Henry sent him a flat look as he reached his side. "Really?"

"I figure if he charged I could outrun him." He pointed to the Projectionist still lumbering on. "But I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Henry sighed. "Just… don't tempt fate like that, okay?" Focus back on the task at hand, he trudged forward. "He'll hunt for you when you get a hold of a heart, so be ready to run for a booth."

"Understood."

"And don't… don't play any tapes down here, okay? I know we joked about you falling in the ink before, but-"

A cool hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see the broken Bendy mask a mere foot away.

"My little sheep, you needn't worry. Tempting fate clearly rubs you the wrong way," the prophet purred, his grip tightening a fraction. "I'll go right, you go left?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Meet me at the bottom of the stairs."

"Can do." With that, Sammy turned with the pipe resting over his shoulder, other arm out and fist clenched as he disappeared into the dark.

Henry turned to his half of the room and flinched at the sudden shriek of the Projectionist followed by the sound of Sammy slamming a booth shut. Sprinting down the hall and grabbing an ink heart, the cartoonist thanked his lucky stars he'd let Sammy know to hide as he did so. That made three hearts, two to go.

The Projectionist thumped around the corner and passed with sluggish strides through the ink. If Sammy were tall, then the Projectionist towered. His light and the ticking of his gears used to fill Henry with dread, but after so many loops, he looked at this creature with pity. Unable to speak, unable to reason, a memory lasting mere seconds… how was the Projectionist even alive? How could that existence be considered alive?

Stepping out of the booth once the creature was safely past seeing him, Henry made a beeline for the next heart.

A screech, and the Projectionist was sprinting down the hall to give Sammy a beating.

"Holy Hell!" Sammy cried out from down the hall, and a door slammed shut.

Henry picked up the suddenly final heart and hid in the booth close by.

"Sammy!" He called out into the dark.

"I'm fine! How the hell is he so fast?" Sammy called back, sounding more like the irate musician he'd known and not the pious ink man.

The cartoonist chuckled. "I have three hearts!"

"Two for me!"

"Then we're done!" Henry stepped from the booth and sloshed back out towards the platform with the elevator.

With the stairs quickly in sight, Henry let out a sigh of relief and headed their way.

In a moment, Sammy trudged out, hunched and with bulges in his pockets. He held the pipe like he was going to war and not an elevator. "I hated every moment of this task, little sheep."

The twisted Angel growled from above as the two made their way up the stairs to the elevator. "Tell me, were they still writhing in your hands? Bring them to me now! I don't like to wait."

"They are writhing in my pockets as we speak," the musician hissed.

"I can take them." Henry held out a hand, brows raised.

"Thank you." Sammy quietly passed the wriggling hearts to Henry.

He'd done this enough times to know he could in fact fit all five into his pockets if done right. "We'd better head out before the Projectionist comes this way." He made his way back to the elevator and was greeted by a smiling Buddy.

Buddy flashed a thumbs up, then leaned around the man to shoot a quizzical look at Sammy. The ink man was standing at the railing, his free hand gripping the wood tightly. "Sammy?" Of all times for the ink man to have a flashback. He seemed to freeze up when they hit, but he usually said something by now.

The ink man stared down into the darkness below. Out in the depths, light flickering, the Projectionist lumbered on as if the two of them hadn't just robbed him blind. The Projectionist himself was a fright, but the man he had been… well. Sammy couldn't remember much. Just… tall and observant. It didn't matter right now. They had almost finished the twisted angel's tasks. "I'm coming, little sheep." He turned to the cartoonist and decided that the Projectionist was best left alone for now.

"You good?"

"I suppose. No fresh memories. Distracted. Nothing more-"

The elevator doors snapped shut between Henry and Sammy. A cruel chuckle from above, and the twisted angel spoke. "I hate to break up such a fun little party, but your Angel has domain here. Your false prophet can play with the Projectionist all he wants."

"No, no, c'mon." Henry pressed the open door button a couple times to find no change. He looked back at Sammy, who was trying the same thing on his side of the elevator.

Sammy turned on the doors and tried to pry them open. "Blasted- angel!" Even with his enhanced strength, he got the elevator doors to groan but nothing more. The ink man let out a throaty growl and reached an arm through the bars, his voice splitting into several. "Henry, give me the ax!"

"Sammy-"

"I'll rip this cage off its tracks if I have to!" The Prophet grabbed the bars from the inside and tried again to force the steel jaws apart.

"There's nothing we can do to get them open. Trust me, I've tried before!"

"Damn her. Damn her!" But no amount of curses or brute strength could get him anywhere but angry. "I made a vow not to abandon you and I'm not letting this twisted angel break it!"

Buddy shrank back from the shouting and covered his eyes in the far corner.

The cartoonist placed a hand over Sammy's and focused on the eyes of the Bendy mask. "Sammy. You're not breaking anything. Neither am I."

Sammy pressed his mask to the bars and turned his hand to lace their fingers. "I-"

Henry didn't question the gesture but gave a squeeze back. "I'm sorry it's happened this way, but there's nothing we can do." He lowered his voice and spoke in a hushed tone. He didn't know for sure if the angel could hear him, but he wasn't about to risk it. "Sammy. Can you find Bendy-Land from here?"

The ink man nodded after a moment. "I… yes. Why?"

With a nod, Henry pushed the ax through a gap in the cage bars. "Get there as quick as you can. I know what's coming, and it's not freedom. This is the crash."

Sammy's shoulders hunched, gaze flicking to the scared wolf in the back of the lift. "I'll find you."

"I know. Please be careful."

The prophet nodded and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Henry's grip. "You as well, my little sheep." He took the ax and stepped back.

Slowly, the elevator traveled to the Angel's domain.

Sammy watched the cage ascend and turned to the darkness that was the projectionist's domain. There was no point in stalling. It calmed him, just barely, that Henry knew what was coming. The Heavenly Toys section was about the point in his prior loops that Sammy ducked out, only interfering once Henry showed up at the Lost Ones settlement. He couldn't bear the Angel back then because of her sacrilege. Now… now it was the guilt.

Sammy hefted the ax over a shoulder and slowly slunk off into the dark. His boots and overalls kept him stable in this place where blackness reached to his knees. Part of him wanted nothing more than to change course to somewhere less… wet.

...but he had promised his little sheep he'd find him, and Bendy-Land wasn't too far out of reach. Not impossible, by any means.

Sammy pressed on, humming I'll be your Angel all the way.

/

"Such a cute display… but cute never lives long down here. You know..." Susie crooned from the speakers. "Sammy Lawrence and I used to be such wonderful friends."

Henry tensed, hazel gaze landing on Buddy.

"The false prophet has more secrets than you would think." Her oozing taunts faded into something slimy and cold. "I knew them some time ago, but poor little errand boy is left in the dark again."

The cartoonist adjusted his grip on the pipe Sammy had given him.

"It's sad, really. He likes you so much more than he ever liked me… let alone any woman, for that matter." The angel ended with a chuckle, static hissed. "Run along, my dear little errand boy. Our double date has come to an end, but your freedom awaits."

Henry thumped the pipe into a palm and glanced at Buddy. "Any clue, Bud?"

The clone shrugged, eyes wide.

"... You sure you don't wanna head back to the safe-house? There's still time."

Buddy frowned and crossed his arms.

Henry sighed. The elevator began its ascent with a hum and a clunk. "Didn't think so."

/

If Henry were any more chill, he wouldn't have a pulse.