At first, things were deadly silent. A foreboding tranquillity that gave rise to unending tension and panic. It was the sort of space that just outright sounded empty. Unfelt, whistling winds that didn't seem to manifest, but sounded between rafter, nook and cranny as if it was where they belonged.
The intruders were all frozen in their hiding spots, as atrocious and impractical as they may have been. They had only intended to beat up Nathaniel Northwest's weird…shadow…lump. Not some kind of impractical fusion of interdimensional mistakes. Even the usually fight-ready Dan Corduroy knew he was of little practical use against this enemy. Save for throwing tables. He was really good at throwing tables.
The slithering of tendrils filled the dark, odious corners of that dark, odious chapel. They wrapped up and around brickwork, fondling for the slightest hint of humanity - of prey. The bubbling, blistering tones of its bulging body were unmistakable. They swore they could hear frantic, panting breaths coming from the flapping folds of the creature's shape.
The vague blue light did nothing to affect the senses of the determined, albeit vacuous-seeming beast. Tendrils slipped through cracks and crevices as they explored for the slightest sign of humanity, writhing along mortar lines, seams and joints with furious efficiency.
Every yellowing line of concrete and pebbledash filled with thick, fennel-scented streaks, as the creature began taking root like an enormous, bubbling oak.
Ford watched with interest from the gap in the liquor cabinet, while Stan took a generous swig of Dutch courage. The ageing scientist considered the last few months of studying Cankerblight's behaviour - in particular, Curzon's ability to infect the house - he only hoped that the creature was so fogged up with its twisted mutation that it no longer had the ability. That was beyond they even considered Bill's natural ability to manifest just about anything from thin air when given a physical form.
His only hope was that this physical form simply wasn't capable of supporting the insane cyclopean triangle's menace.
There was part of him that wondered why it was so silent. Why it didn't speak. It was no secret that both Bill Cipher and Cankerblight adored the sounds of their own voices. There'd be so many opportunities to taunt, to torture, to make their human targets miserable and scared. Instead, this creature seemed so threatening because it had no such interest. It just moved. Moved and stared.
He pondered over it eagerly while he grabbed the bottle from his brother and took a swig himself.
"Poindexter, what're we gonna do?" Stan muttered.
"I'm not sure, Stanley. We need to eradicate this thing."
"Coulda told ya that."
"Our priority is getting the kids safe."
"Coulda told ya that, too."
"There's the potential of using water, of course."
"You wanna use more water….on a thing mutated by water?"
"You saw what it did to Nathaniel."
"Yeah, made him way more freakin' terrifying."
"Now imagine using every one of those railroad tankers that Wendy and Marcus saw."
"I dunno, Sixer, it's risky. What if he gets even bigger, more terrifying?"
"Then we're done for."
"...And it's still your best plan?"
"I don't have anything else, Stanley."
"Then we better find an alternative. I'd prefer not to traumatise the kids more than they were last summer, Ford. Mabel still can't do geometry without trying to burn her homework."
"...Are you sure that's a trauma response and not just her hating homework?"
"Whadya think I am, a psychiatrist?!" Stan said a little louder, only for a six-fingered hand to slap over his mouth. He furrowed his brow.
The middle-aged scientist snorted and recoiled. "...Ew, did you just lick my hand?!"
"Shh!" Stan retorted, sarcastically, folding his arms like he was an irritated schoolboy.
While Ford was trying his damnedest to seek a solution, his equally analytic great-nephew was struggling to hold things together. A wealth of interdimensional experience will make a thinker out of even the most perilous situation - something Dipper just didn't have available to him.
Dipper and Pacifica held on to eachother tightly, wincing at the sounds, smells and tension that the belligerent creature seemed to bring with it. The incense cabinet, Dipper had reasoned, would at least cover their sent - but it did nothing to cover the scent of the horrible creature that pursued them. The stench of fennel, tobacco, musk and wet dog was overwhelmingly foul.
They swore they could feel that staring gaze piercing them. Dipper was beginning to seriously panic. Despite everything, despite their victory, he couldn't really help but be panicked by the return of Bill Cipher. Pacifica felt much the same way. They may have seen his defeat in the past, but this new form seemed almost impossible. It seemed to have all of his relentless nature with none of the self-preservation. It didn't even break the tension with one-liners or the odd bit of music.
It just shambled on. And on. A sticky, pulsating, sweating, sopping mess. An interdimensional catastrophe of almost endless proportions. An unspeaking, unflinching, uncommunicable enemy.
And more to the point, was really, really, really gross.
Their breathing was ragged and tremored. They were both trying to get air into their lungs, to stay calm, to get their senses - and Pacifica was still nursing a desperate headache. Neither were sure who was holding who more tightly. They could hear noises. Crashing, the breaking of glass, the splinting of wood, the grinding of stone - the creature was looking for them.
It was clamouring. Searching. Crawling.
They tried to hold their breath, tried their damndest to stay silent in the face of what was very genuine fear. A single, black tendril squeezes through the tiny gap between the cabinet's doors, slapping against the woodwork like a spidery tongue.
They both whimpered and recoiled as gently as they could, eager to not touch the thing and alert it of its presence. It was a futile attempt - to their horror, a rounded lump travelled the length of the tendril from outside, and rolled from the tip in a glossy, yellowed eyeball.
Its pupil adjusted and focused upon them.
Pacifica yelped and recoiled. Dipper tried not to vomit. But apart from that, they didn't have time to react. Tendrils shot out, wrapped around their face… and the world went black.