They fell into the void together, with Error holding ink in a strangling grip and Ink trying to scratch and push him away, but he didn't relent.
They could have only fallen for a few seconds, or a few days. Time was strange in the Anti-void, and even more so in the true void. Error could feel himself losing the battle to stay awake, through the lightheaded pain and the pressure of falling. There was no sensation beyond his own crumbling bones held together with strings, and no air to breathe which meant no air resistance to stop them from falling ever faster.
I can't believe I would ever prefer the sensation of barreling from the sky at terminal velocity, but here we are.
Ink struggled in his grasp, which made him hold the creator tighter out of petty spite. The creator seemed to realize the futility of it, and gave up. Whatever greeted them on the other side of the void, neither had any idea of it.
The speed of the fall and the building pressure in his head caused his vision to spin, twirling faster in the unchanging gray of the void. The force on his bones grew, until he felt like he was deep underwater, buried under layers of rock, until his skull collapses and his bones pulverize-
Error blacked out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He woke to the feeling of being shaken. Error opened his eyes to meet two white pinpricks above a brown scarf. Ink stared back at him, his face devoid of all emotion. He closed his eyes.
"Hey, wake up."
He really did not want to deal with this.
Ink shook him harder. "I know you are awake, get up Error."
"I'M aSlEeP."
"No you aren't. Get up or I'll puke on you.
Error opened his eyes again. He didn't care about getting black ink on his already black jacket, but wet paint is uncomfortable and he will have to see where they landed anyway. He scooted until he was on his knees and gave Ink a baleful glare.
"I cAn'T gEt uP, bOtH mY lEgS aRe bROkEN."
"Well that sucks for you, I don't really care. How do we leave this place?"
Ink seemed to be in his "blank slate" mode, where he doesn't use any of the paints in his arsenal. To be fair, a closer look showed that several of Ink's vials were broken, specifically the violet, pink, yellow ones. Ambition, lust, and happiness. No wonder Ink was so abrupt in declaring his hope to escape. The creator could no longer feel happiness, and even Error admits that was Ink's most prevalent emotion. It gave him a perverse sense of joy, to see the creator in such a state.
As if his little bit of pain will make up for everything he did.
What a horrible thing for me to enjoy.
Error took his first glance around the place - the void? - where they had landed. They seemed to be laying on a trash heap of sorts, which provides a soft, dark, goopy cushion to their fall. The heap around him consisted of everything, from dead monster dust to furniture to an innocent bag of chisps, all in different shades of brightness, like an old photo. Glitches ran rampant around the endless gray surroundings, and light fell from above.
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