Create And Destroy (Error X Ink)

A little talk (part 3)

Ink's artistic gaze, usually so vibrant, clouded with genuine bewilderment. His brow furrowed, a faint splash of green paint near his temple seeming to deepen in confusion. "I... I don't understand," he stammered, his voice losing its usual confident lilt. "What do you mean 'hack into us'?"

Error shook his head slowly, a sigh escaping him that was a mix of exasperation and a deeper, almost weary patience. His mismatched eyes – one crimson, one a piercing gold – narrowed slightly. "Ink," he began, his glitches momentarily intensifying, "What is the m-most imp-p-portant part of us? The tHing that m-make us u-us? Our s-souls are o-our tr-tr-true l-l-lifes." His voice, though fragmented, carried an undeniable weight, a stark, clinical truth that cut through Ink's confusion like a sculptor's chisel.

A sudden, instinctive gesture, Ink's hand flew to his chest, pressing against the thin fabric covering his sternum, where his ribs formed a protective cage around the very core of his being. He could almost feel the phantom thrum of his own soul beneath his palm. "Our souls..." he murmured, the words barely audible, echoing in the vast, empty expanse they occupied. "Could hold the answer..." The idea, so simple yet profound, began to bloom in his mind like a nascent thought, but then, a logical 'flaw' immediately pricked at his artist's brain. He lifted his gaze, meeting Error's with renewed urgency. "But how are we going to hack into our souls? They're not... digital."

Error, with a practiced ease that suggested he'd anticipated the question, rolled his mismatched eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped him. "My s-strings." The words were uttered with a quiet finality, an undeniable truth that made Ink's breath catch in his throat.

Ink's eyes widened, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them – surprise, apprehension, a flicker of genuine fear, yet beneath it all, a strange, undeniable thread of reluctant trust. This was Error, the destroyer, the one who wielded those very strings as weapons. The thought of surrendering his essence to them sent a shiver down his spine. "You expect me," he challenged, his voice rising in incredulity, "to leave my soul at your mercy!?"

Error shook his head, a rare, somber expression settling on his usually volatile features. He knew the weight of his reputation, the terror his strings inspired. It was true, Ink had every reason to refuse, every reason to fear. But Error also knew, on some fundamental, inexplicable level, that Ink, for all his chaos and paint, held a peculiar honor. He wouldn't hurt Error without cause. "T-true," Error conceded, his glitches taking on a softer, more hesitant rhythm. "Then I w-will let you-u h-have hold of m-my s-soul." The words felt alien on his tongue, a vow he never imagined making, a vulnerability he rarely, if ever, considered. Did that really just come out of his mouth? he internally questioned, surprised at his own conviction.

A stunned silence descended. Ink stared at Error, then slowly lowered his gaze to the vast, empty white land stretching infinitely around them. His mind raced, weighing the desperation of their current predicament against the terrifying leap of faith Error was proposing. There was a logic to it, a strange, twisted logic that only someone like Error could conceive. "All right..." he finally agreed, the word a soft exhalation of breath, a decision made on the precipice of desperation and burgeoning trust.

Error was, for once, genuinely shocked. A glitch ran through him, a momentary scramble of data, before he managed to collect himself. Shaking his head slightly, as if to clear the impossible surprise, he extended a hand towards Ink, palm open.

The moment Ink's hand settled into Error's, a network of vibrant blue strings, shimmering with latent energy, began to crawl up Ink's arm. They were not aggressive, but rather strangely warm and guiding. They snaked around his forearm, pulling him gently but firmly closer until his hand rested against Error's chest, directly over his ribcage. Through the layers of clothing, Ink could feel it – a faint, erratic thrum, the fragile, fractured beat of Error's very life force, his peculiar, broken soul.

Error's voice, now softer, held a deeper timbre, laced with an almost apologetic sorrow. "I'm s-sorry, but m-my s-soul c-can't c-come o-out of m-me b-because it's b-b-broken."

Ink nodded, a blush creeping up his neck as the intimacy of the moment pressed in. He shuddered, but not from fear – it was an odd mix of vulnerability and anticipation as Error's strings, with an astonishing delicacy, began to weave around Ink's own chest. They tightened gently, a soft, insistent pressure, then pulled. With a sensation like a vital organ being carefully extracted, Ink's soul emerged, floating before them in the sterile white void.

Error gazed at it, mesmerized. He had expected an explosion of color, a vibrant, chaotic rainbow befitting the Protector of AUs. Instead, Ink's soul was a pure, luminous white, radiating an almost blinding, pristine glow, utterly unlike his own soul – a jagged, obsidian shard riddled with searing red cracks, barely held together by his destructive magic.

His strings, almost possessive, wound tighter around Ink, gently but firmly drawing their bodies flush against each other in the stark, silent void. The contact sent a jolt through Ink – an unexpected warmth, a strange sense of belonging that resonated deep within him. For Error, the proximity was a palpable relief, a sensation akin to finding a missing piece he hadn't known he was searching for. It was as if all the unspoken desires, the quiet longings, had finally coalesced into this undeniable reality.

Their eyes locked, a profound connection passing between them in the infinite stillness. Ink looked wonderfully dazed, his usual vivacity softened into an almost dreamlike state, while Error's usually sharp, glitching gaze was surprisingly soft, brimming with a tenderness he rarely, if ever, allowed himself to show. Caring for something, for someone, was a truly rare and bewildering experience for him, and yet, here it was.

Ink, enveloped by Error's presence and the strange, comforting embrace of his strings, could not help but feel utterly safe. He trusted Error, truly, deeply, despite everything.

"Are y-you r-ready?" Error's voice was a low rumble, solemn and laced with a hint of concern.

Ink nodded, a quiet affirmation. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then slowly closed his eyes, surrendering completely to the unknown. "Yes."

Error's own eyes closed, a flicker of raw determination crossing his face. With a final, decisive movement, his luminous blue strings surged forward, not around, but into Ink's pure white soul. Almost instantly, the vast, empty whiteness around them dissolved, consumed by an absolute and terrifying darkness.

*remastered*