Just as he thought, Mickey was shaking and backing away, which was more than enough enough movement to see him. He was like a sketch of white pencil on black paper, not colored in yet but just outlines. His face of pure horror was rather clearly seen, and it made the creature feel somewhat satisfied. Normally, he would hate to his friend scared of him. But this wasn’t Bendy at all, at least not who had become. Who Joey had changed him to be, ever since his summoning. Whether the mouse was seeing him or something else didn’t matter, as long as he could feed off his fear, he felt satisfied.
The demons manic laughter couldn’t stop, even as the pain of this form was setting in. He had to hurt something to stop it, to share the pain, and it was so tempting to make Mickey feel what he was. Yet the last shred of himself was stopping him, so it looked like he was riding it out this time. “Honestly, it really seems like I’m the one in hell, not this lying scum! After all he did, I’m the one paying for it! He killed my best friend, laid him on a metal slab for all the world to see, then had the gal to lay his dirty hands of Alice!”
As his grin shifted into a scowl, it perhaps seemed even more threatening. Bendy looked down to where he assumed the body to be at the moment, the round drops starting to spike, “All my friends, GONE! ALL BY HIS AND ALL THE OTHER CREATORS HANDS! BUT HERE I AM, TRAPPED IN THIS HELL HOLE OF A STUDIO, WITH A LUNATIC PRAISING ME AS A GOD, AND I HAVE TO FIND A REASON EVERY DAY NOT TO KILL HIM! AND ITS ALL. HIS. FAULT!”
The screams outside all melded together inside his head, making him clutch his head with clawed hands. Bendy wanted to laugh it away, but he couldn’t this time, and he didn’t know why. Of course the first thing he thought of was that it must by Joey’s soul trying to hurt him one last time before it’s fed to the flames. Ink had flodded another inch up, but looked like the ocean tides with how it went up then shrunk back down into the floor.
Mickey’s breathing became more ragged as ink flooded the room, already rising to his knees; his own dripping ink mixing with it until he could no longer tell where it ended and Bendy’s ink began. And it was so cold, so dark and slimy, so alive-
Alive as it squirms under his skin like maggots, eating away at the hole inside his chest while the Shadow Blot laughs and laughs and LAUGHS-
A wet cough, and thick, greenish-black ink dribbles down Mickey’s chin. A pained wail comes out of him as he tries to cover his ears, shaking his head and refusing to look Bendy in the eye. It was all too much: the fear, the pain, but most of all the sorrow of Bendy’s terrible words, his terrible fate-
“Stop, stop, please STOP-” He was terrified beyond words, but it was the fear that turned his words into an angry growl.
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