Inktobertale 2022 : Compilation of novels

13th of October : Prince

The massive doors of the royal bedroom opened as the guards on each side of it lowered theirs heads in front of the prince. Ink walked into the large room, accompanied by the Royal counsellor Ajax. "How much time do the doctors give him ?" asked Ink with a concerned voice.

"Your majesty, I'm afraid it is only a matter of hours." sadly replied the counselor as they both stopped in front of the bed. In it, the king of the multiverse, once known as Undertop Gaster, now simply Palette, was lying, weak and ill. Even despite his lack of skin, the marks of time were visible on his face and bare chest. The doctors surrounding him suspended their work and took their leave, allowing the 3 to interact in peace.

"My son..." whispered King Palette with a shaky voice. "It appears the time has come for me to pass my role onto you."

 "Father..." replied Ink as he bowed down. "I'm terribly sorry that I couldn't be faster. If only I hadn't wasted so much time frolicking in AUs..."

"Enough with the regrets." The king cut him off, with this wise tone in his voice he had when he wanted to be understood. "You, my son, are a very free, active person, and I am happy to have raised you as such. Now, I will finally see your father again, and although this thought couldn't make me more happy, I still desire to let you know..." He was interrupted by a violent chain of coughs, which made Ink even more worried.

"Father ! You are asking too much to your poor body. You must rest for now, you can tell me all this later."

"No no..." replied his father as he struggled to breathe again. "I can feel it, Ink. I'm almost all out of time. I simply want to tell you... that you shouldn't be overwhelmed by what responsibilities  the role of a king imposes. Before all, a king cares for his subjects, something I know you will not fail to accomplish."

Hearing about responsibilities, Ink's expression closed, and he didn't answer back.

"My son... Are you troubled by what I think ?"

Ink sighed. "It's just... nothing."

"You are scared The Brush will not accept you, right ?" said Palette.

Used to his father's clairvoyance, Ink simply lowered his head in shame. "With you gone, that will leave me, and Ajax..." he accompanied this last bit by a head gesture toward the counselor. "...the only people left to know of my true identity. The secret of my condition."

When Prince Ink was born, he was a stillborn child. His soul, too weak to handle life, had shattered, leaving him to dust. But Palette and his partner, who was still alive at the time, refused to have the entire multiverse lose hope over such a tragic news. So they had taken Ink's dust, and fused it with a very special substance : creativity extract, a liquid extracted from paint  oozed by The Brush, the legendary weapon which every king of the multiverse wielded, a tool of great power and righteousness, which only allowed itself to be handled by someone it judged worthy of doing so. With the fusion of the two materials, Ink had been reborn under a new form, but his soul had not reappeared, leaving him emotionless... unless he regularly drank paint from The Source (birthplace of The Brush and the Multiverse as a whole). This secret had been very well kept, and now, only Ink and Ajax (who had never aged because he had never gotten any kid) would know about this. 

"And you're afraid," Palette said, "that because of your lack of soul and origin, you might not be considered a real sentient creature, nor worthy of wielding The Brush ?"

"...Yes." sadly admitted Ink.

The king smiled. "Come forth, my child."

Obeying, Ink stepped closer to his father, and let the old man put his hand on his cheek. 

"Because you are emotionless in nature, doesn't mean you aren't a good person. You still have values, memories, friends. These are what made you into the person you are. And as long as you possess these, you will always be the Ink everyone but yourself sees you as. You have yet to realize how strong you are, but even if the road is long and full of dangers, I know you'll eventually come through, my son. Because you do not have to be perfect to be accepted by The Brush. You only have to be honest to yourself. Accept who you are, and the entire world will accept you as well, sooner or later. I believe in you, my son, Ink."

I believe in you, my son, Ink.

Ink couldn't get these words out of his head. 5 days after the passing of the old king, the imposed mourning period was over. And although he had already cried a lot, he still felt unready. But it was too late to back down. The whole multiverse was now staring at him, as he stood in front of the giant mountain of black crystal which housed The Source. Just like every other sovereign before him, Ink was going to enter this restricted sanctuary. There, in the very center of the mountain, he'd find a natural fountain of paint which seemed to fall from the sky, and encased in its center, would be The Brush. After accomplishing the proper rituals, Imk would extend his hand, and from there on...

His fate would be forever changed.