Batim | Monster Ink au [old]

The prophet

This has to work
I just need to give more of myself
Yes. Yes that will work
How many times have I tried this?
I... Ive lost count
Heheh... but it's fine
He will hear me this time!
This time he will save me
He will set us free!

Sammy laughed to himself. It was a desperate, sad laughter that caused him to devolve into sobbing. Every time he tried to get his lords attention it wouldn't go as he hoped. Every time he came he would send him back into the dark puddles. The screaming, formless void that he dreaded. Being sent back so many times took a toll on his own inky body. Once it used to be stable, big, and some could even say toned. But now, he was a shell of his former self, constantly dripping wet ink, skinny, his own body threatening to collapse back into the puddles at any moment. But he had to keep going. He had nothing left to do but worship his lord and pray for freedom. Does he even know what freedom he wants anymore? He has forgotten. At one point he thinks he had followers. They've all gone. It was just him. Alone in the music department. But he kept going. He had nothing else to do. It would work some day. Sammy again preformed the ritual. Today was a lucky day. For inky veins covered the walls.
And his Lord appeared.
His thin figure was tall and imposing, Sammy couldn't bring himself to look at him. But look he did, no mater how many times he sees his Lord he is always struck dumb in awe. His Lord looked at him with his blood red eyes. And smiled a sharp tooth grin.
He grabbed Sammy by the neck and squeezed.
And Sammy's form popped like a water ballon.
Back into the well of voices.
Oh well.
He will pull himself out again.
He will try to beg for freedom again.
He will please his lord some day.
He just had to keep trying.
No matter the cost to his own body.