Chapter 4- Awakening

That tears it, Harry thought, his aching head slowly rousing him from unconsciousness. If Joey Drew isn't already dead, I'm going to kill him. Slowly. With a rusted spork.

Harry was sure now. This place was coated in dark magics. The only things that would react like that to a wizard just getting ready to cast a spell would be sentient magics. And Light magic would have simply repressed any of his spells, not outright attacked him for trying to use magic. He'd probably have to call in the Unspeakables to clear it out.

But the images he'd received had baffled him.

The Bendy-like monster from earlier, an empty wheelchair, and the bizarre machine from earlier? It was almost like the magic had been trying to tell him something.

He paused at the thought, his headache slowly ebbing away.

If Drew had been using dark magic on his employees, then it was possible that the magic had been trying to warn him. Drew had no magic of his own (that Harry knew of) so the results he got would have been a hotpot of intentions built on those involved in the spells. It was entirely possible that the former employees had been against Drew's experiments, and they could have reacted to his magic and tried to communicate with him.

Theoretically at least.

Magic was fueled by will, emotion, and intention. Anything was possible if someone wanted it badly enough. How else would Magicals be able to travel through time itself? Or jump between countries in seconds? Or being able to pull someone back from the brink of death? They had to want it to happen, and magic would do the rest.

And... That was a rather disturbing train of thought, if he was going to be honest with himself. It meant that the old employees were still there. Trapped within the building they had died in and unable to leave, probably by the very person who killed them.

Harry shook his head, suppressing a cold shudder at the idea.

"I can't just sit here and speculate," he muttered, looking around for his wand. "Only thing I can do for now is press on and try to find a way out of this mad house." He sighed, finally finding his wand and stowing it away in its holster. He leaned over and snatched the ax he'd set aside earlier, before collapsing. He really hoped he wouldn't experience that every time he tried to use magic, it would make escaping that monster incredibly difficult if it caught up with him again. He knew he'd have to use magic to have even a chance against it.

Harry gingerly rose to his feet, checking for any injuries he could have missed during his prior escape attempt. Beyond some bruises and a still rather painful ache from where he'd landed on his keys, there was nothing serious.

He looked back at the way he'd come, and spotted broken boards and dripping ink blocking the way.

"That's not good. The floor must've collapsed while I was out." Harry felt a flicker of worry building in his chest. That could only mean that the floors were no longer stable. Worse still, they could crumble down around him at any moment and crush him. That was incredibly dangerous, and definitely lethal.

He needed to get moving, and fast.

The ax was put to use once more, hacking boards off the only door present, and Harry once again made his way forward. Opening to yet another flight of stairs Harry descended them cautiously, stilling when a plank of wok fell from the ceiling, and then continuing onward. Yet another nail in the "Unstable building" theory. He really hoped he could get out before the place went down.

Harry faltered at the bottom.

There was a shrine at the end of the hall.

A shrine with a bendy image, a banjo, and a bunch of bowls filled with rocks(?) and ink. A long with some (most likely expired) cans of Bendy Bacon Soup.

And more sloppy, inky, writing on the walls than made the Wizard bristle.

"He will set us free"

"He'd better hurry up then." Harry muttered, right before his mind supplied various, highly unpleasant (and lethal) meanings to the phrase, which prompted a shudder from the green-eyed male. He turned to room the corner altar was attached to, finding another, larger alter, more coffins, and yet another tape recorder.

Harry strode over to the recorder. If he was lucky, it would tell him of an escape route that would let him avoid the monster he'd seen upstairs. He picked it up and pressed the play button. The voice that came out sounded- wrong, like it didn't truly belong there. He immediately hated the tone that the speaker used.

That kind of evangelical worshiping tone one would expect from a church-goer of rabid faithfulness, and questionable sanity.

*"He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me

"Those old songs? Yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final, loving embrace.

"But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?"*

"No, you may not." Harry muttered, glaring at the recording. Obviously Sammy's gone around the bend. He paused, brow furrowing in confusion. Wait, how did I know that? Unlike the others, this tape player isn't labeled.

"I said can I get an Amen?"

Harry swore audibly, whipping around and swinging the ax upward as he did. All he managed to do was embed it in the wall at head level. And there was no one there.

Damn, so much for his preemptive strike.

He pried it from the wall with a grunt, still peering around to find the mystery speaker. He couldn't see them.

"Bloody stars, I need to get out of here. There is something wrong with this place." Shaking his head, Harry made his way through the short hall leading away from the recording. He paused at the cut out at the end of the hall, then dug into his bag. The cutout was innocent enough, but right then Harry wasn't feeling very charitable towards the Dancing Devil. He could have destroyed it with the ax, but that idea left him twitchy. He grinned, finding his item of choice and turned to the cutout. A marker was brandished.

"Sorry 'bout this mate, but I need some comedy to lighten the mood." With that Harry pulled the cap off the marker with a flourish and set to work. Once he straightened up, the cutout was sporting a set of glasses and a rather dapper-looking mustache. "There! Now don't you look just smashing!"

He gave a tired smile, feeling a tiny bit better. Horror movie atmosphere or not, this was still a cartoon studio. And comedy was par-the-course for Toons.

He grimaced after rounding the next corner though, as it opened to a corridor that was flooded with ink. As if he wasn't already drenched in the stuff. With a frustrated sigh, he supposed he couldn't get any dirtier, and started slogging through the muck.

At the end of the hall he spotted a strange humanoid figure carrying and Bendy cutout passed in front of the doorway, muttering as it walked. Harry took a startled step back, something in his chest tightening (Fear? Why would he be afraid?), then forced himself to keep moving. He raised his voice, calling out to the stranger.

"Excuse me! Hey! Can you help me? Hello?" He sped up, struggling through the ink that seemed to cling to his legs at his increase in speed. He stumbled around the corner, but the stranger wasn't there. "The hell? Where'd he go?"

Staring back at him was a single cutout leaning against a wall (with yet another overly complex pentagram drawn on it) that certainly wasn't going to answer him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He really didn't like this place.

Harry turned around with a sigh. That way was obviously a dead end, maybe the other path would be more helpful?

Well, so much for that idea… Harry thought, finding a metal barricade blocking the way. Was this one of electric doors the report mentioned? How the heck was he supposed to open it? Blast it all… Now what?

Something drew his eyes to the walls, there had to be a way to open the door. Green eyes landed on a strange box with a lever and three lights mounted on it. Was that the door switch?

'The lights are out. They need to be lit up to open the door.'

Harry blinked at the odd thought. That didn't sound to crazy, most electronics had a "power light" that had to be lit before they would work. But there were three lights. Did he need to get all three to turn on?

There must be some kind of power switch for those lights. I'll have to go back and look for them. Harry started backtracking, moving various wood planks and soup cans in his search, pressing each switch as he discovered them. Alright, that's all three of the switches, let's see if I can get that door open now.

He went back to the door, pulling the panel lever once he'd confirmed the lights were on. It slowly opened with a loud clatter, making Harry wince at the sound.

'Sounds like that thin' needs a good dose a WD-40. Maybe even a whole can of it.'

Harry sighed, moving into the small passage that had been revealed, hefting up his ax again to cut the boards block his path. The new area was actually dimmer than the halls he'd passed through earlier, but he could still make out important details.

Like the large notice board proclaiming the new place as the "Music Department", with various records and music notes decorating it.

"Well, at least now I know where I am..." He muttered, peering through the gloom. He spotted yet another tape recorder sitting on a small shelf by the notice board. He trotted over, pressing the play button. "Let's see if this one has anything useful on it."

*"So first, Joey installs this Ink Machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month we couldn't even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell.

"Joey's solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out all day.

"Thanks Joey. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don't write themselves, you know."*

Harry gave a sympathetic wince. That… Did not sound fun. Sammy sounded saner in this recording, but he definitely wasn't happy with his boss. It was a wonder Joey even had employees if this was how he was treating them.

Okay, so I need to find the stairwell that may-or-may-not be flooded with ink. Delightful. Knowing my luck, it'll be flooded. Harry turned, he was fairly sure this was the "Lobby" (so to speak) of the department, therefore the stairwell shouldn't be too far away. His gaze fell on a doorway that was almost right next to the doorway he'd come in through. I'd bet sickles to Cauldron Cakes that that's the stairwell Lawrence mentioned.

He trotted over and let out a resigned sigh.

He was right about it being the stairwell. Unfortunately, he was also right about it being flooded with ink too. Great.

"Well, guess I'll need to use that ink pump after all." He almost turned completely when he spotted yet another lever in the wall, this one labeled "Power Switch". He shrugged, maybe it was put in later to turn on the pump. At the very least it could turn on the lights. He pulled it to the on position with a sharp tug and was rewarded with a tell-tale clunk that signaled something turning on somewhere. Sadly, it wasn't the ink pump like he'd hoped.

Harry turned back to the music department, only slightly mollified by the lights being on now. Something inside him lurched, and he paused.

Something wasn't right.

His instincts were whispering that something had changed when the lights came on, though he couldn't see anything different.

Harry slid a hand into his sleeve, drawing his wand and palming it in his left hand while raising the ax in his right, falling into a classic dueling stance (Krum had taught it to him, after discovering that Harry had never been taught how to defend himself properly). He peered out of the small landing into the rest of the room, slowing inching out of his "safe" spot.

Harry froze when a chilling moan cut through the air. A large black ink puddle bubbled up through the cracks in the floor, slowly rising up from the floor and forming a creature of some kind. It was only a torso, grimly deformed with a concave stomach. It had an orbed, bald head, on a far too thin neck. It's face was as deformed as the rest of it, empty eyeless sockets and a tapping toothless maw, opened in a wet, eerie groan. Long spindly arms bearing three, unnaturally long fingered hands clawed at the floor, dragging its body closer to him.

The grim creature's body reminded him of an Infirni. He had a horrible feeling that, like an Infirni, the creature before him may have once been human as well. It made him sick with anger. Another sickly moan rang out, and another creature appeared, and both lunged at the Wizard, reaching out for him.

He reacted on instinct, firing a blasting curse at the strange creatures, popping like thick tar pool bubbles. Harry's head abruptly throbbed in pain, making him stagger back. He forced it back as more of the ink creatures formed dragging themselves closer. He cut down the next ink monster that lunged at him with the ax, using a banishing hex to buy himself a breathing moment before trying to continue fighting. He'd nearly gone cross-eyed at the migraine that slammed into him, but he kept fighting. (He could handle this. He'd fought Voldemort while the man was using legilimency on him, he could handle a couple ink monsters)

He'd lived through a magical civil war, he was not going to let himself be taken out by a bunch of ink monsters made by a half-cocked muggle playing with magic he didn't understand! (Something inside him was curling in on itself, he ignored it)

Harry felt a snarl build in his throat, and lashed out again with the ax, cutting down another monster that lunged at him. Three more rose up, but were taken down just as easily. (they were unstable. Weak. Little more than canon fodder for anyone they rose against.) The fight was difficult, but short.

He was breathing hard by the end of it, leaning against one of the walls, holding back the nausea caused by balancing fighting ink monsters with a throbbing headache. It felt far too much like an illness-level migraine, and he really didn't want to vomit again.

This is going to take a while, isn't it?