A Glitched Soul [ErrorXInk]

Chapter Six - Haphephobia

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An unsettling feeling soon went through the creator. The sun was high in the sky but there was something very, very wrong. The house was clean and all the chores were done for that morning but something still felt off. The constant feeling of dread continued to wash over the creator as he sat down on his couch, leaning over slightly as he was sat on the bed. What was going on all of a sudden? It was constant, the pain, the misery, the sorrow, constantly hitting the artist in waves over and over, never stopping, crying and screaming!

Then, it hit him. It was another universe. They were suffering horribly from something and he was just sat here doing nothing. Another wave fell over him, this time with guilt washing through in between it all. Guilty for not realising the situation sooner. Guilty for allowing it to continue for even a few minutes after being aware of the situation. Even if he hadn't realised it, deep down he did and it was his fault someone else is probably suffering horribly right now. 

The creator quickly grabbed his paintbrush, his scarf already comfortably sitting around his neck snugly. He gripped the wood of the brush tightly, adjusting his belt of different paints on so it wouldn't move around if things got ugly. He didn't want anything to distract him if it comes to any sort of fight. He he to always be prepared, be prepared if the worst came to the worst, if anyone gets hurt, if any fights break out or if there is anyone else causing such sin across a universe. Ink always must be prepared otherwise if something bad does happen, all he can do is sit back and watch.

In a flash, he had swung his paintbrush and a gooey mess of paint and colour opened up to a rift that led to the universe in distress. Ink walked up, took a deep breath and calmed his mind before stepping through, being whisked off to wherever the danger and trouble was coming from. He continued through his rift, seeing all the colours flash by at high speeds. Faster than he would normally go, trying to make up for lost time pondering about what was happening and what could or would happen. The creator had to be tactical on this, he was never known to be the one who went in at full power hitting and attacking whatever was in front of him. There might be a reasonable explanation for what was happening, such as a slight error in the coding or a slight mishap with a genocide run. It could be anything really. Anything at all. Something really was wrong however, it was a gut feeling to the artist, a terrible feeling at the pit of his stomach that wasn't going away, wasn't going to go away until he fixed and solved whatever the issue or problem may be.

After a few seconds of thinking and flying through the created rift, Ink finally landed in some snow on his feet as the portal closed behind him. 

Silent. That's all he thought as he began to take in his surroundings. Not a bird chirped or a voice was heard. Not one, not even a whisper, a whimper. Nothing. Silent, just silent. Just like before. The snow had a mixture of grey, red and bits of yellow. Grey, the dust of monsters who have been so tragically dusted and maimed. Red, from the blood of those who were brutally slaughtered, the only thing that had remained of the monster who was once living and breathing. Yellow, the remnants from fear from the children, watching siblings and parents being killed before them as they know they're going to get killed next. Just from the look of the floor you could tell something very wrong had happened here. There was a foul smell in the air, a smell of decay and ruin, of dust and abandonment. Of death. That smell you get when you walk into an abandoned house after a murder, or the smell you get when walking into a slaughter house. The air tasted soul, disgusting, old and musky. You could physically taste the copper from the blood due to the vast amounts of it pooled in different places. The trees were covered near the bases, a bit in the leaves from some sort of spray - the type you would get when you suddenly get ripped open from the throat. The silence came back around again, an endless loop of death filling the senses of the poor creator.