3Disclaimer. I do not own any rights to Bendy and the Ink Machine. All rights belong to the members of The Meatly Games.
I Am Not the Twisted Angel
The ink stained poet.
The sound of footsteps scampering away and loud shouting noises echoed in my head, all too familiar sounds, but somehow, they still manage to cause a stinging pain in my heart. No matter how often I hear the wretched sounds, I will never get used to it. They cannot speak, not many can in this abandoned hellhole, but their actions speak by themselves. The scared looks from some, the aggressive noises that I can only assume are cries of hate, the violent actions. It all hurts, but that is my curse.
I rounded the corner only for a sharp pain to shoot up my leg. The shock quickly took control of my body, a broken cry escaped my lips and I quickly crumbled, reaching for the handle of my sword. I am reluctant to kill, not believing it right, but I do what has to be done. In this world, it's a survival of the fittest.
The attacking creature, another deformed creation, snarled, clutching its own weapon tighter, its gaze never leaving me. A string of noises fell from its mouth, only several words audible. 'Twisted angel.' That's all I needed to hear to understand. We locked eyes for a second and I could just see the thoughts spinning in its head. The hatred, the skepticism, the underlying fear, I'd seen it all before. I went to move only for another shot of pain to course up the same leg. Ink splattered across the wood below, the metal piercing my skin. I cried out in pain, the weapon sinking deep into my leg. My attacker's eyes lit up, a sick, deranged look on its face. I knew that if I remained in this state I would fall victim to this creature. Others here knew nothing of morality, killing without remorse. Thousands were slaughtered every day, some more violently than others. I wasn't going to just lay down and let myself be killed. Drawing the sword from its holster, I directed it at the creature, the silver metal glistening ominously. I didn't want it to go any further, I didn't want to kill the creature, so it was only natural that a wave of relief washed over me as it retreated, never once redirecting its gaze. I watched as the deranged creature disappeared into the darkened corridor, not moving until I was no longer in its line of vision.
Once out of sight, I sighed and looked down at my leg. The golden weapon had embedded itself into my lower leg, ink slowly trickling down. Ripping the metal from my leg, a hiss of pain escaped me. I should be used to this, used to the attacks, but they still managed to catch me by surprise. Struggling to my feet, I placed my ink stained hand against the wooden wall. My head felt light as I stumbled forward slightly. My vision, although blurred, was drawn to the sepia toned paper hung upon the wall. Dragging myself forward, I ripped the page from its resting place, clutching it between my hands. I growled; the sound low in my throat as anger rose in my chest. The twisted angel, the root of my problems, the cause of my pain. I clutched the paper tighter, the parchment crumbling between my fingers with ease. It's all her fault, all the pain, all the hurt, it's all her fault.
We were cut from the same mold. Two angels, each with two horns, a halo. A pitch-black dress, two black, inky gloves twisting around each of our arms, the white bow, a mockery of the old cartoons. We are so eerily similar, and yet so different. We share the same name, yet we each wear it different. She wears it as if it is a badge of honor, while I wear it in a state of confusion. She is confident with who she is, she's the Angel, sent from above. I, on the other hand, am also an angel yet left wandering with no idea who I truly am.
And yet, they fear me as they fear her. The ones blessed with a voice whisper behind my back, calling me the 'crooked angel'. Some scamper the minute I direct my gaze at them, running from me. Others are braver, trying to bring me to justice. But I am not her. I am not the malicious, twisted creature that she is. It hurts every time another calls me a monster, for I am not. I am not the angel obsessed with beauty. I am not the angel who is willing to kill for a cause that will amount to nothing. It doesn't matter that we were spawned from the same ink, it doesn't matter that we live by the same name. We both were cursed with the burden of being 'Alice Angel' but we are not the same. I care about others. I still have a heart under all this ink. I can still feel, unlike that monster. It pains me terribly when they shun me, hurt me. Yet the worst part is being compared to her. I am not the creature that she has been corrupted into. I'm nothing dangerous, I just want to know who I am, I just want someone to tell me that I'm not the corrupted angel.
Releasing a groan of pain and frustration, I threw the paper to the ground and I managed to drag myself back to my sanctuary. It's nothing more than a cold, wooden room, lit by a single candle, but it's my home. It's the one place in this hell where I feel safe. It's foolish, but it's almost like this room holds more memories than I remember. Turning on the small radio in the corner of my wooden room, I sat myself down, resting my injured leg. The stabbing pain had reduced slightly, the skin already healing. I let the music wash over me, lowering me into a deep sleep. The last thing I remember before descending into sleep was the gruff voice of a man whispering in my head. "My angel. Stay safe, my dear." Although not knowing whose voice it was, it still filled me with a sense of safety, of hope, something I rarely felt these days. A small smile danced across my face as I let the darkness claim me completely.
I awoke to the sound of panicked screaming and the sound of metal clashing. Quickly, I scrambled from my resting place and pressed my ear to the wooden barrier separating me from the chaos outside. The sound of gurgling ink and the sick squelch of metal entering inky flesh assaulted my ears and I shuddered. I pressed myself against the wood to try and hear better. Several seconds passed, seconds full of broken screams before silence. Sickening silence. Slowly, I pushed the wooden door open, peering onto the battlefield. The walls were stained with ink, the thick, black liquid forming puddles on the wooden floor. The scattered corpses lay in the puddles, eyes wide open, mouths frozen mid-scream. Dragging myself through the sea of bodies, I slowly kneelt beside one. I recognized it. The features still ingrained in my mind. This creature, the one who attacked me earlier, lying lifelessly in a puddle of its own ink. My stomach twisted, the sight of all this death making me feel sick. There was only one creature who could have done this, the angel. I knew she was sick but I never thought she'd stoop to this. This bloody mess was her doing, I just knew it.
The feeling of a cold metal pressed against my neck ripped me from my own thoughts, followed by a deep growl. Slowly, I raised my hands in a surrender. I knew how this was going to go, the creature behind me would mistake me for her. It was always like that; things don't just change. I turned, my sword still in its holster, my hands above my hand. My eyes met the creatures and I was frozen in shock. He was yet another one of those Boris the Wolf clones but he was different, an individual. Something, no, someone a person cannot easily forget. The white against his pie-cut eyes turned down into a frown, the mechanics of his left arm glistened when he moved, two black ears stand atop his head, seemingly alert at all times. His gaze bore into my soul, a stern frown lining his face. I was familiar with these clones, the were one of the few creatures that could be considered perfect, but were cursed with the inability to speak. I never knew any of them personally, they all scampered the minute I directed my gaze to them. But I don't think I would be able to hurt them, they held an innocence so rare in this hellscape, something I couldn't destroy. In his mechanical hand, a golden axe glinted, still pressed to my neck. I couldn't think straight, my head still clouded with confusion.
"Please," the word escaped me before my mind caught up with my mouth. The wolf tilted his head slightly, perhaps he couldn't understand. I noticed him looking between me and the bodies and me, and it was easy to connect the dots from there. "It…it wasn't me." The wolf still seemed confused, though lowered the axe slightly. With a rush of bravery, I extended my hand out to him. He stepped back slightly, still skeptical.
"I'm Alice," I said slowly, like a person would talk to an injured animal. "But I'm not the angel." Carefully, I placed my hand upon his shoulder, resting it there. He flinched but didn't protest, so I continued. "There's no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." We locked eyes and I smiled. We stayed like this for a few seconds, before he lowered his weapon completely. He placed his hand over mine, the metal cooling my hand. A small trickle of ink ran down his cheek, dripping down onto his hand, creating a quiet ping with each drop. "You're bleeding," I raised my hand to catch the ink, carefully applying pressure. "Let me help you with it, please." The wolf's eyes stared deep into my soul before he nodded, and a warm feeling filled my stomach, something I couldn't understand. I took his hand in mine and led him to my sanctuary. I barely knew him, but this wolf clone filled me with a feeling I can't describe. If only he could talk though, sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to in this hell.
Carefully, I led the wolf to my sanctuary, making sure not to step on any of the corpses. I noticed him glancing around suspiciously, still wary. I understand, I'd be wary of me too. Pushing the door open, I placed him into the wooden chair and began rummaging around in a few cupboards. I'm sure I have some bandages in here somewhere. I should really keep these cupboards more organised. I sighed in exasperation, not finding one bandage in the several compartments. I turned to the wolf, who was being rather quiet this whole time.
"I'll be back in a minute, just need to grab some bandages from the hospital a few floors up." I headed towards the door, only to feel cold metal grab my wrist, the feeling sending a chill up my arm. I glanced at the wolf, confused. A look of worry was etched onto his face and I couldn't help but smile. I barely knew him, but he already seemed to care.
"Don't worry, I'll be okay." Removing his hand from my wrist, I continued on my way to the door. Closing the door quietly behind me, I began making my way to the hospital. The corpses had dissolved into ink at this point, leaving only puddles of black. I subconsciously reached for the handle of my sword, the dead were known to rise from the ink, often with a thirst for vengeance. The sooner I reached the hospital, the better.
Music flooded the hallway and I couldn't help but shudder. I knew the tune. I knew it far too well. The Angel's tune, a warning sign for those foolish enough to cross her. I knew she had control over the lower levels of this hell, her domain, her Heaven. Any wrong move and I'd be the next of her twisted experiments, nothing was spared in her quest for perfection.
The static from the speakers soon began piercing my ears, the loud crackling assaulting my senses. There was no other here, yet I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Then, I heard her. The syrupy sweetness of her voice echoed through my head, slowly clouding all other thoughts.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the imposter Angel. Tell me, sweetheart, what brings you into my domain?" I wanted to scream, I wanted to find her, I wanted to kill her, I wanted to end the angel. Her laughter echoed through the halls, as if she could hear my thoughts. And I couldn't shake the feeling that she actually could. We were created from the same ink, created by the same process. The way the ink worked is something not one creature completely understands here.
"That's no way to treat your host now, is it my sweet Angel?" I don't have time for this, I don't have time for this, I don't have time for this... Covering my ears with my hands, I continued making my way upwards, too afraid to stop for a second.
"What are you afraid of Allison? Are you afraid of little old me?" Her high pitched laugh vibrated in my head, the sound filling me with dread. I don't have time for this...I don't have time for this.
"Oh, my sweet Allison. So scared, so innocent, so unknowing. It's almost poetic." Allison? Allison, I know that name...I've seen it, around the studio. On posters, 'starring Ms. Allison Pendle.' But, why is she calling me Allison? I'm...I'm Alice, just like her. We share that name, we share that curse. I'm Alice, not Allison. But deep down, it feels right to be called Allison. Was that who I was...before? No...no...no...
I shook my head clear of those thoughts. I don't have time for this. I need to get to the hospital above, get my bandages and get back to the wolf. That was my goal, I don't have time for her mind games. Though as I continued upwards, I couldn't get the crooked Angel's laughter out of my head, the sound plaguing me for the rest of the journey.
Returning from the hospital, I pushed open the wooden door, the creaking sound echoed through the hall. One of my arms was filled with bandages, the other still clutching my sword following an attack. The wolf jolted to his feet upon hearing the door creaking, axe already gripped in both hands. Holstering my sword, I raised my free hand in surrender, a smile forming on my lips. "It's okay Tom, it's just me." The wolf looked at me, his expression softened and he dropped the axe, letting it fall to the ground with a loud thump. He reached towards me and grabbed my hand, leading me to the furthest wall. My hand fit perfectly in his, a flutter of butterflies filling my stomach. It felt like the rest of the world could burn as long as I could stay with him. I've never felt this way before, perhaps it's a link to who we used to be, who we were long ago. Perhaps I knew this wolf, and as foolish as it may sound, perhaps I had something with him.
The wolf looked at me before dipping his arm into a nearby pot, coating his gloved hand in ink. I looked at him confused, what was he doing? Once completely coated, he rested his hand upon the wall and began writing. Just watching the ink stain the wall was so satisfying, and watching his hand form the letters, it just was so enjoyable. I knew that writing on the walls was the only voice many people had here in this abandoned world. I did it myself sometimes, drawing small pictures of faded memories that I regain, so I don't forget again. Once he finished, the inky letters spelled out a single word, TOM. Tom…Tom…Tom…
My mind finally caught up with the current situation and a looked between the word and the wolf. "You like being called Tom?" The wolf nodded, a smile forming on his face. My own face formed a smile and I gripped his mechanical hand. "Then Tom it is."
I'm not sure what he likes about it. Perhaps he likes being separated from the rest of the clones and I don't blame him. If I could, I'd distance myself from the name Alice.
Time passed, and the happiness I've felt in that time has been unrivaled. Tom was the first creature in this hell that I felt safe with. I thought it was stupid, I believe he would treat me like all the others had but he didn't. He treated me differently from everyone else. He did not fear me for looking nearly identical to the fallen angel. He treated me like an individual, not like I was the twisted monster others believed me to be. To him, I was me, not her and that made me the happiest I have ever been. Though the other blinded creatures still fear me, still believe me to be the crooked angel she is, I am able to disregard their words. And while they may still sting, they are nothing compared to the hurt they once brought. I no longer feel like the shadow of the angel but rather my own person. I am not the angel to him. I feel like me and for the first time since I've been encased in this world, I felt at home. He stayed by my side, even in the worst situations. When we locked hands and he held me close, it was a small piece of heaven in this hell.
30 years. 30 long years passed. 30 years in this inescapable hell. Things never changed, things never diverged from their assigned path. Until that day...
A loud creaking sound ripped through the silence. I turned suddenly, hiding in the shadows. Tom was back at the safe house, I was alone. Alone. The worst thing I could be at any time. Alone. Alone. I clutched the sword handle tight, the breath heavy in my lungs.
The creaking grew louder. Wait... I know that sound. I remember it, it's a distant memory, but I know it. The main door. The main entrance. It had been so long since it opened, 30 years. It screeched on its rusty hinges, the sound echoing through the hall. I watched from the sidelines, not daring to make a sound. My breaths were coming in sharp gasps, beads of fear tricking down my skin.
Something, no, someone was here. A human. A real human, here. But why? What business did a human have here?
"Alright, Joey. I'm here." His voice was smooth, sweet. Like the most magical of melodies. So soothing, so different. Then I noticed it. Colour. The man had colour, something never seen in this world. Brown hair with grey streaks and the brightest golden eyes I've ever seen. So beautiful.
He was so interesting yet so...familiar. Like I once knew him. A long forgotten friend. Maybe he was, maybe he was connected to my past life. Maybe, just maybe, he was indeed our saviour who will set us free, who would bring us home.
"Let's see if I can find what you wanted me to see." Again, that magnificent sound blessed my ears.
I was drawn to him, attracted to everything that he had. He disappeared around the corner and I ran to the safe house. I had to tell Tom. I had to show him. Maybe this was the moment that we've been waiting for.
We watched him from the shadows, following him through his journey. Chapter by chapter, we watched as he descended deeper into this nightmare.
It isn't until the fourth chapter before I see her again. I wait in the shadows beside Tom as I observe her. She is different now, enraged, consumed by her twisted quest for beauty, she's broken. For the very first time I saw her not as the twisted, malicious angel that I was so frequently mistaken for, and even once feared but rather as a broken shell of her former self with nothing more than a sick obsession with perfecting her exterior to fuel her. The heart that I once prided myself in having ached. She wasn't there, not anymore. I clutched the handle of my sword.
A loud screech ripped me from my thoughts. Her voice echoed across the dilapidated ballroom and I lunged forward. I was doing this for her. She was broken inside, a danger to everyone around her. She had to be stopped. She didn't notice me behind her, too enraged, charging forward to kill the human in front of her. She didn't get to him though, as my blade drove into her chest.
I ripped the blade from her body. She stumbled slightly before collapsing to the floor, ending her reign. Her body lay lifeless, the soul finally freed. A sick thought consumed my mind. I was the only angel left now. I was the angel that survived the story, the superior angel. At last, I would no longer be mistaken for the crooked angel.
