At Their Mercy

Chapter 3: Little light

A/N: I had typed out half of this chapter before my computer decided to bite the dust. Finally got a new one in so I could complete it. Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I think the next one will be a fun experiment to write. You'll see what I mean by the end.

Time seemed to pass rapidly after Erratum's first interactions with the multiverse. Year after year, they managed to somehow discover countless worlds of varying fates. Some were unique, some were near carbon copies of others. Some were light and cheery, and some were not. Time after time, world after world, it never became any easier to witness. Horrortale, Dusttale, Underfell, Underworld... seemed like they never ended. Erratum had lost count of the number of times they returned home to their plane and wept. Such anguish that existed in this multiverse settled heavily in their soul and caused it to pulse with shared suffering. The tears became so frequent that they seemed to carve twin golden paths in the corners of their sockets. They continued to struggle to understand why the creator would have done all of this. Was it sadistic delight? Curiosity? Just because he could? Erratum struggled to keep the bitterness from their soul at the very idea of the other treating the universes like playthings.

But then they were struck with another idea.

Ink had been created without a soul, and thus without any true emotions. Karma had given Erratum an in-depth explanation of the creator and his formation, so they felt comfortable enough to draw a conclusion. Perhaps he was doing it to understand emotions better. Sure, he could simply use paint to replicate the emotion of sadness or anger, but what did that truly mean to him? They were emotions with no ties to an external or even internal trigger. Even experiencing it, perhaps the other didn't really understand emotion. Creating universes with heavy themes of sadness, hate, joy, fear... maybe it was all a way to express these emotions. A way to study them and understand how they connected people to events or their environment. It was a less grim theory than the others.

Erratum had been slowly inserting themselves more and more into other universes. They took better care to keep out of the way, however, and remain mostly a mild task manager at best. Little things to help, mostly out of sight. A comforting word in the form of a passing echo flower message, conveniently placed items, and whatnot. They still had no great wisdom to impart to others, so they mostly left those wishes unattended. There wasn't much they could do to assure a person about their place in the world or the meaning of life. That was way too complicated to even consider dealing with. There were times they had intervened in more major ways, mainly if the universe was showing signs of instability. These problems required a more hands-on approach, whether it be manipulating the universal "code" itself or eliminating errors by force. They were certain that more than once they'd been spotted, but they did their best to be discreet.

The voices had become easier to live with, and thus, easier to navigate through. The whispers always remained as soft lapping at the inside of their mind, always ready to be pulled forth for more consideration. They told Erratum of their sorrow, their hopes, their joy, their rage. They felt as though each person was someone they had known their entire life through the constant chatter. There were certain voices that returned daily or even more than once a day to them. Those beings Erratum had given little names to in order to distinguish them from the sea of voices. Each held a significance to the makeups of their words and energy that was always radiating from them. From the soft mutters of the Lonely heart to the impossible wants and expectations of the Dreamer. Each one brought a sense of fondness to Erratum, to the point where they could identify a change in their patterns almost instantly.

That was how they were able to pick up a problem with their Little light.

Little light was always so bright and exuberant with their every prayer and wish. They were never for themselves, either, but for those around them. Little light always asked for others' safety, not their own, for the happiness of others, not for themselves. Lately, however, the vibrant light seemed to dim with each whisper it gave. There was no great regaling of their day and their great aspirations and hopes for others. There were only pleas for comfort. They asked to understand, which was confusing. Erratum didn't know what they wanted to understand. They asked for strength, which Erratum could not supply to them. It was frustrating to have the knowledge of all these wants of others with limited power to do anything about them. A call for help, however, was something Erratum was always able to answer.