It doesn't just take a mind to be creative. There is saying that states "The artist has to put his whole soul into something for it to be considered good art."
But one couldn't make good art, if he had no soul.
But why won't anyone help? Why is Fat...
"I don't think either one of us is in any condition to use our magic." I argue. I don't think I can tell him where we are. It's too dangerous. He would have an advantage when we fight again. He would know where I would go if I was injured, like right now. I kick my subconscious for bringing me here. But at least Ink can't leave if he doesn't know where he is. I don't know if I would have survived if I was on my own right now.
It's going to take me a while to recover, but I think it's going to take longer for Ink to admit that there is something wrong with him. The black substance. He doesn't look sick, like he has a cold or anything. Can we even get colds? No important. What he does look like, is tired. His bones having the slightest grey tint.
"Error, that doesn't matter! Where are we?" He asks with more irritation creeping into his voice. I don't know if I can hold back this information now...but I have too. Instead of trying to resist his questions with half answers, I decide not to answer at all. And I don't know if that was a good decision or not.
I close my eyes, knowing that he is mad at the empty eye sockets staring back at him. But I'm not very good in these kinds of situations. That's why I just kinda...run here, and away from his questions. Besides even if I were to tell him that I don't want to answer him, he wouldn't understand. Or at least he wouldn't try to.
"Error, wake up." Ink says, resisting shaking me back to the light. I have hopes that he would know how bad my condition is, and wouldn't try to move me. Can't he just sit there for a couple minutes. I am getting quite tired out.
After a few moments of tense waiting. He finally shuts up. But as I float on the edge of sleep, the time of silence stops. "If you don't want to answer me, I won't hesitate to do this." He sounds a little father away from me, more specifically, above me. The vagueness of the threat alone almost got me to open my eyes. But the thing that got me to jolt awake is the realization of what is above me.
The souls.
"Ink, don't!" I say, actually trying to sit up. His hand hovering over one of the string up souls. But instead of looking smug at his victory of getting me awake, he looks scared. Scared of the fact that I am almost standing. "Stop! You're going to make yourself pass out." He says, rushing over to me, voice laced with annoyed concern.
He grabs my right hand and helps me back down to the floor. I try not to push him away, frightened by him suddenly appearing at my side. I almost registered his aid as an attack. And that, along with the sudden rush of pain, gets my soul racing. As I lay down, I see his eyes still hold the threat.
But before he has the chance to speak again, I interject with a surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you where we are." I say, defeated. My eyes can't meet his, as I focus on slowing my breathing. He doesn't leave my side as I try to figure out what to say after all of this. I'll just tell him where we are, he doesn't need to know that this is where I live. Besides, he will just forget again anyway.
Author's Note Hey y'all! I just wanted to make an announcement! It's a new story! It wouldn't be apart of the Multiverse series (which is what I am calling this book series y'all are reading right now), but it's own stand alone Undertale fanfic. It's called Possession and you can find it NOW on my profile. Here is the cover and a summary:
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The Judge
I don't know how much longer I can go on. It came so suddenly, during a time when I had least expected. And now...I don't know if I will be able to escape.
Vines wrap around the sleeves of my blue hoodie, causing me to give up any and all control. They continue down my body and to the ends of my legs, making my steps copy and unnatural. As they move me forward, I do everything in my control to go back.
"Quit it trash bag!" The voice that is literally in my head screams. I fight even more. They can't hold onto control forever, can they? I try to speak, but vines around my neck prevent me from doing anything too risky. It wouldn't take much for a soulless flower to decide that he's done with me as his puppet.
I never liked being responsible for too much. Even when I had to take care of Papyrus, I knew that all I had to do was keep him happy. And then we would be fine. But anything else, like becoming the Royal Judge, made me feel as if I was adding another string for the puppeteer to control. And that never sat well with me. But now...
