It Was All a Dream. (Errink Deathfic)

[Five] Fourth Dimension

Love is made up of three unconditional properties in equal measure:

1. Acceptance
2. Understanding
3. Appreciation

Remove any one of the three and the triangle falls apart.

Which, by the way, is something highly inadvisable. Think about it — do you really want to live in a world of only two dimensions?

So, for the love of a triangle, please keep love whole.

Error searched a whole new multiverse for his beloved Ink. Different multiverse from the last. His mind was spinning, drifting from thought to thought. What if Ink was purposely avoiding him? Maybe he figured it out. Figured out how Error felt. Or maybe he was kidnapped and taken far away, out of reach from even Error. If anyone of those were true, Error would find a way, no matter the cost. He would find a way, whatever it might be. The Destroyer scoffed as the AU he was in collapsed from him tearing it apart with his strings. Error didn't care that the inhabitants were stranded on this AU, slowly inching towards their unjust demise in the Void, he was too busy. Busy hoping. Busy searching. Busy crying. Crying for Ink. The only thing he wanted was Ink, yet fate seemed to have other plans in store of her vast mind. Those plans lead to Error's suffering. Every moment he had tried to give in, though, the Voices just mentally attacked him, making him continue. It really took a tole on his energy. Usually, he was able to destroy three AUs daily without having massive side effects. The Voices upped that to nine AUs searched and then destroyed. Every. Single. Day. He had lost around twenty pounds over the week, which was dangerously low. He used to be seventy pounds, very low for a skeleton, but now he was fifty pounds. Fifty pounds. Error didn't think for himself anymore, the Voices did that. If he even dared making a plan that didn't involved searching for Ink, they'd bombard him until he gave in. Every night he cried for it to stop. His pain. His suffering. His misery.

Error was in his seventh AU when he suddenly froze over. Time seemed to stop around him as he focused on one thing: a faint voice in the distance. The monsters around him took this moment to flee. Slowly, the faint voice gained in volume. Though it came from nowhere, at the same time it came from everywhere.

"Happy Birthday, Error."

The voice was steady, yet slow. As if there was a deep sadness hidden behind it's surface. It was familiar to Error, the voice, yet he couldn't place his tongue—well, tongues, he has three—on it. That whole ordeal was other all too soon. After snapping back into reality, he looked around, as if searching for the person who said that, but was confused to find he could see nobody at all. Confusion swarmed Error like angry hornets, seizing onto his fragile mind and playing a game of tennis with it as the tennis ball. Whacking it theory to theory. The Voices seemed to notice his little pause, because they were asking Error questions that he couldn't hear all too great, nor did he want to answer them. Instead, he carried on throughout this Multiverse with a new shade of gray. No mercy for those around him. If they were close enough, he would strike them down, dead. His LOV—Level of Violence—was already at a very high number before he started his genocide, but now it was just going through the roof. Even as the protector of AUs for this Multiverse appeared many AUs late, he didn't stop. As they swathed Error in attacks, he still didn't care. If they got too close, he would violently hit them back. At some point, he broke several of their ribs, a cracking noise filled both their ears, it somewhat shocked the Creator and protector of this Multiverse, before they got back on track so Error couldn't get the upper hand on him. Error, at this point, was fueled by rage, hate, confusion, and things with so much more depth that they cannot be explained in words. What had the third dimension voice come from? Who did it come from? His head hurt. Not from any blow the Creator inflicted on him, rather from the whole vastness of his predicament. How could Ink—the one person he was actually attached too and cared about, not to mention immortal—just disappear like that? It was overall confusing for him.

After another unsuccessful search, Error returned to his living quarters, plopping down onto his extra large sized bean bag. It was like a bed for him. Lazily, the destroyer flailed his arms to one side and retrieved a small lockbox full of his most valuable items. Various strings, needles for sewing, small magical objects he had found on various missions, and, at the very bottom, a single picture of him and Ink. It portrayed them sitting on a bench in the middle of a surprisingly clean city. Error didn't have the happiest of faces on in this photo, but Ink, oh Ink, he had the brightest smile on that side of the Multiverse, and that's a fact. To Error, this photo's price exceeded what even the richest could afford. To obtain it, you'd have to take it by force since Error will never give it up. For some, it may seem silly that he is so very attached to a mere photo. But, think about it. Put yourself in Error's shoes, err, slippers. So, your life was a relatively happy one: you had a lover, a house, food, and all those necessities, but one day, out of pure spite, fate decided to pry away the very core of your happiness. The one you share your love with. How would you feel? And don't say you would feel nothing. You aren't a demon who comes from the fiery pit of hell itself to read this story. That'd be a waste of time. This story is for people who care. For Error and what's to come of him. It all rests in Fate's hands.

Some believe Fate is forgiving and cares about things and life. I don't, in fact neither does Error. Fate is ruthless and doesn't give a care in the world for you or anyone else. To her, we are all just tokens in her game of sword and shield. She doesn't care if we live or die. If we're happy or sad. This is the point where some may argue with this claim. If that is one of you, please do tell me: if Fate cared, why does rape and murder exist? Felony as a whole? You could be the sweetest, kindest, warm-hearted person in the world, but what would that have to do with your future? Sure, people could like you, but out of the 7.7 billion people currently in this time, one of them ought to hate and despise you. They will do bad things to you if they could. Fate is a cruel matter. At least, this is what Error believes. What a poor, poor soul.