Alice Bendy Ink Machine Novels & Stories

Something about that day clicked into place. “HP LaserJet 1320,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else in the room. Axel nodded. “Yeah, that’s the printer. And there’s more. The ink and paper used in the notes match supplies that were manufactured around the same time the printer was produced. HP 49A.”

"They are trying to flatten the sector before we can find a variable!" There was this deafening blast from a steam whistle that tore through the woods. A massive tracked binding machine crashed onto the highway, its curved steel blade scraping along the road with this screech. The machine was not alone. Dozens of molders were clinging to its flanks, their white aprons stained with this fresh wet stream of midnight-blue ink. "The journal!" Julian roared. "Elara you have to write an exception! If you do not anchor a font path the machine will roll over our profiles at the next intersection!"

I gave out a loud sigh and then lay back on the bed to catch my breath and relax my mind which was going crazy with panic of not finding the necklace and eventually losing Blade. Then my eyes caught something on the fancy toy duck lights above and it drew my attention. Was there a red zipper on the yellow duck lights? I stood up on the bed and stretched my hands to reach the lights and then I undid the zipper. A coiled brown rope with a grainy blue amulet was in one of the duck lights and I quickly took it and did the zipper back. My eyes were fixed on the dusty old necklace and I couldn’t help but wonder how that necklace could save Blade’s life or why it was so important that Dexter had to

"It’s no longer a weapon of the Architect. It’s a shield of the Earth." ​ ​We didn't bring the Plate back to New York. We brought it to a small, hidden refinery in the mountains of Calabria. We ground the mineral-encrusted alloy into a fine, metallic dust and mixed it with the "Vance Indigo" ink. ​We called it The Shield-Ink. ​When the first batch reached Thomas in New York, the Absolute Zeros were already at the doors of the Scriptorium, their pulse-emitters humming with a destructive roar. Thomas loaded the Shield-Ink into the Heidelberg.

They didn't have eyes or arms; their fronts were fitted with long, three-inch graphite nozzles that were dripping with a continuous stream of liquid type-metal, the molten antimony-lead alloy that was being prepared for the second press-run. They did not attack her heart. They targeted the silver on her spine. The nozzles opened, shooting a jet of hot metal into her side. The impact did not tear her muscle. It filled it with metal making her left side a solid block of lead that dragged her down the machine. ​"Damon!" her internal ruby text tried to flash, but the red ink-grease was already turning grey under the lye-wash. The Alpha did not come from the furnace.

The ink clings to the quill, its viscosity carefully crafted to prevent dispersal in the water. Turning his attention to the kelp paper in front of him, Bryan observes the faint shimmer on its surface. The kelp fibers have been infused with a unique hardening agent, a secret formula known only to the skilled artisans of Tritania. The agent causes the ink to react, triggering a chemical transformation that solidifies the liquid, ensuring that the words he pens will remain intact and readable.

The machine hummed like a restless heartbeat, the needle gliding across skin as Ayla Cross filled the curve of a raven’s wing with black ink. The smell of antiseptic and cedar oil wrapped around her, the familiar perfume of creation. Outside, rain streaked the windows of The Runed Den, her little shop tucked between a pawn store and a bakery that stayed open too late.