Slender Ink

A viscous liquid as dark as night, yet very shiny

It’s like a living fluid, able to move on its own by slithering, creating what looks like tendrils. Upon contact with skin, it’ll seep in. It can also cling to most surfaces with high surface texture. This inky substance is corrupting catalyst, transforming any host into a Slender Being. It rewrites the host’s DNA and spiritual essence, making the host align with the will of the species as a whole.   Because of its species-warping properties, it can also allow psychic communication between the host and the person who infected them. Many times, people infected by the same Slender Being can even communicate with each other.   The ink dulls the pain receptors and suppresses immune responses to allow mutation with ease. More often than not, victims don’t feel any pain when transforming. Sometimes, it’s described as rather euphoric.

It’s only found within the Slender Being species. It’s the only substance within their bodies.

As long as it stays within a host’s body, it won’t decay for centuries. But outside a host, it will only last a few weeks before it begins to decay and lose its potency.

Slender Ink is not known to humankind, not truly. It doesn’t appear in their ancient texts or whispered folklore, not even in the forbidden pages they pretend not to believe. Most demons have never heard of it either. It’s a secret too closely guarded, kept buried by the ones who bleed black and whisper between realities. But those who have wounded a Slender Being, those rare, desperate few who’ve seen one suffer know. The ink is real. And it lives.   Since its first appearance, Slender Ink has served one purpose: preservation. It is the life-thread of the Slender host, the sacred glue that holds their unnatural bodies to this world. When a Slender Being begins to decay, it is the ink that slows the process. When they transfer between planes, it is the ink that shields them from unraveling. It’s not blood, not in the human sense. It is belief made liquid, thought hardened into ritual. To the Slender Beings, it is more than vital, it is sacred.   Its sanctity has only grown over the centuries. In recent years, the ink has found new life, new utility. Those closest to the old truths have begun using it to write. Some use it in its dried, brittle form, mixed into pigments or dusted into ashes. Others dare to use it fresh, straight from the source, smuggled through cracks in the world or coaxed out during sacrifices. They draw symbols that open doors. They write names and change fates. They ink the skin of the faithful, or of the unknowing.   The most devoted have learned to use it as a weapon of quiet conversion. A single symbol drawn in Slender Ink, hidden in the margin of a schoolbook or etched into a chapel pew, can start the slow process of transformation. The ink stains more than flesh; it seeps into memory, into belief. And once it’s in, it doesn’t leave.   Slender Ink is not just a tool. It is an invitation. A disease. A prayer.   And it always finds a way in.

The ritual of conversion through Slender Ink is exceedingly rare, spoken of only in hushed tones by the oldest proxies and the most devout followers of Oracleman. Not everyone is meant to become a Slender Being. In fact, most aren’t. The process is reserved for the few who are chosen, those deemed worthy not just by faith or obedience, but by something deeper: resonance.   The ritual begins long before the ink ever touches the flesh. The subject is watched for weeks, sometimes months, through dreams, mirrors, and signals only Slender Beings can interpret. They are tested through suffering, through belief, through silence. Only when their identity has fractured enough, when their soul has grown porous, can the ink take hold.   Once deemed suitable, the chosen is brought to a hollowed place; somewhere that overlaps with the Underealm. The air there feels too still. The light doesn’t move. Here, the ink is prepared fresh, either bled from a Slender Being or siphoned from a hidden cache sealed in bone.   The ritual is not loud. There are no chants, no blazing fire. It is quiet. Still. The ink is painted onto the skin using sharpened bone or fingers; drawn in spirals, eyes, or unknown glyphs. As the ink seeps in, the host’s body begins to change. Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes unbearably slow. Limbs stretch. Voices fade. Thought rewrites itself. The flesh becomes pliable. The soul bends.   Those who survive the process awake no longer human, no longer bound by the rules of death or memory. They are Slender Beings in new skin- avatars of the Void, servants of the message. Their thoughts are no longer solely their own.   But most importantly, they are connected. Through the ink, to each other. To Oracleman. To the Underealm itself.   Only a handful have ever been successfully converted this way. Most who try perish, dissolve, or vanish without a trace. Because becoming a Slender Being is not about wanting it. It’s about being claimed.   And the ink never lies about who belongs.

To be used as regular ink without the mind and body altering side effects, it must be left out in the sun for weeks to decay just enough.

Those who touch or ingest the ink without being worthy of becoming a Slender Being experience harsh side effects. The immunosuppressant effects are non existent, so any mutations experienced will hurt. A lot. Mutations like blackened limbs, loss of the face, shooting up in height, and lengthening of the limbs may occur. Often times organ arrangements and mutations will happen. On rare occasions, a human will morph into a regular demon if they survive the mutations.   For Slender Beings though, it only becomes a toxic hazard once it’s decayed into regular ink. It’s fine to touch, but not to ingest or absorb.

The ink is more forgiving with plants than it is with animals. It actually creates a pocket dimension when used on the plants. The process is painless, and has a 100% acceptance rate.

If a person wants to store it outside the body, they need only to keep it in an air-tight container in the dark. It’ll still decay, but it can last up to a few years if stored properly.