Wednesday blinked in surprise, slowly looking around.
The last thing she remembered was the RV and an unfinished chapter of her new novel. The story was about a girl investigating the disappearance of a person who vanished from their own home without leaving a single trace. Yet, being herself, Wednesday pulled herself together almost immediately.
She didn't need long to analyze the situation to understand where she was. She turned her head back—there was a long, narrow sewer passage stretching into impenetrable darkness. Turning forward again, she saw the same thing: a tunnel filled with darkness.
The air was thick with the familiar stench of sewage. Cold water reached her ankles, slightly soaking her shoes. And yet—instead of fear, Wednesday felt her usual curiosity.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she calmly considered how and why she had ended up in such a place. First, she pinched herself on the arm to check the obvious. The pain was real enough. She gave herself a short nod. Sleep was ruled out.
The next possibility was a vision. But that theory quickly fell apart—Wednesday hadn't touched any object that could have caused such an effect. Besides, her visions were usually different: fragments of the past, vague glimpses of the future… but never full immersion in a sewer tunnel.
That meant everything happening was real.
"Interesting," Wednesday said in a calm, cold tone. "The easiest way to figure out how I got here is to go forward. Whatever waits at the end will make excellent material for a book."
With a habitual motion, she removed her backpack and pulled out a flashlight.
Turning, she shone it back, trying to make out the path that might have led her here. But the beam disappeared into the darkness—it didn't disperse at all. Wednesday's reaction was expected: steady and almost indifferent.
She didn't care that a way back might not exist. She had already been to the Red City, had seen the creatures that inhabited it, and had even met Zhang Ya—the Demonic Deity with his own world, as Alex had once said.
If even that encounter hadn't scared her, then a dark sewer was certainly nothing to worry about.
Calmly stepping forward, Wednesday illuminated her path with the flashlight. Occasionally, rare shafts of daylight broke through from above, indicating that it was still daytime.
Yet she remembered clearly—the evening was approaching.
Such contradictions only fueled her interest.
A little further on, Wednesday felt her foot hit something. She lowered the flashlight beam and saw a dark, shaggy object, resembling a wig, slowly swaying in the murky water.
Raising an eyebrow, she looked around and noticed a wooden stick nearby. Picking it up, she carefully nudged the strange object. Turning it over, Wednesday realized it wasn't a wig at all.
It was the half-eaten head of a teenager. Her first reaction wasn't shock, but analysis. She carefully examined the bite marks, the shape of the damage, and the nature of the tissue tears.
"Seems like I'm starting to understand where I am," Wednesday said. "Well… that's even better. Means less time wasted on pointless searching."
She pushed the head aside with the stick and continued on.
The flashlight revealed fragments of detail in the darkness: pieces of adult and teenage bodies scattered along the tunnel. Wednesday reacted calmly—they were just remains.
She was interested in only one thing: what—or who—was at the end of this tunnel. The farther she went, the stronger the stench of stagnant decay became—the smell of bodies that had been decomposing there for years.
Reaching a fork, Wednesday stopped and shone her flashlight down both paths. Then she aimed it at the wall in front of her. There hung a sign with two arrows. One pointed in the direction labeled "Exit." The other—"Dead End."
"What a mediocre way to scare someone," Wednesday remarked coldly. "And why did I even expect more from a creature like this?"
Once again, instead of fear, Wednesday felt only cold disappointment. Shining her flashlight toward the arrow marked "Dead End," she headed there without hesitation.
The right tunnel confirmed her choice almost immediately—the smell of rotting flesh grew stronger, and fragments of human remains appeared more frequently. With every step, the cold intensified, as if she were approaching the open door of a massive freezer.
Wednesday continued forward, paying no attention to the bones crunching under her feet. The sound provoked neither disgust nor anxiety. Just a few minutes through the cold, grim sewer tunnel—where she felt not an ounce of fear—and light appeared ahead.
Instead of rushing forward, Wednesday stopped, removed her backpack again, and opened it.
She already had an inkling of who—or what—was waiting for her at the end of the tunnel, and instead of dread, she felt only restrained anticipation. Yet Wednesday did not forget caution—taking a knife from her backpack, she slid it into her pocket and swung the pack back onto her shoulders.
With a cold, composed expression, Wednesday moved forward and soon emerged from the tunnel into a vast, spacious chamber with a high ceiling. Looking up, she saw a towering mountain of debris composed entirely of children's toys. Around this eerie heap drifted the bodies of children, like shapeless clouds, while daylight barely filtered through from above, casting thin beams down. Wednesday recalled Alex's stories about this place and finally understood where she was.
Yet one question still gnawed at her—how exactly had she arrived here? The only logical explanation was that her visions had triggered on their own again, drawing her into this place.
Lost in thought, Wednesday didn't immediately notice a creaking sound. Lowering her gaze, she saw a wooden cart with a brightly painted side. The paint had long since faded, now dull and grim. The side slowly lowered with a prolonged creak until it slammed to the ground. At that moment, the space was filled with the sounds of a circus fair—children's laughter, the crackle of popping popcorn, and insistent carnival music.
"O-o-o… What an unexpected guest!" a cheerful voice called from the open circus cart.
From inside emerged a Clown. He wore a baggy, silvery silk suit that shimmered like moonlight on water. Large orange pom-poms ran down the front in place of buttons.
The ruffled collar framed his neck, and the bright tie—sometimes electric blue, sometimes a yellow bow—hung loosely downward. Enormous white gloves looked cartoonish, far too big and far too clean for this place. His face was hidden beneath a thick layer of white makeup, like cracked porcelain, with a wide red smile stretching from ear to ear. His teeth looked ordinary at first—until they sharpened into razor-like points.
The top of his head was bald, while two tufts of bright orange hair jutted out from the sides like horns. His eyes glowed with a horrifying bright yellow light, causing discomfort to anyone daring to meet his gaze. In his hand, he held a cluster of balloons swaying above his head—bright, inviting, promising joy, yet hiding the stench of sewage, rot, and fear.
Wednesday, meanwhile, remained unshaken. Not because she didn't understand who stood before her, but because she simply did not feel fear. All she felt was cold, investigative curiosity.
A creature feeding on human fears and turning nightmares into reality was, to her, not a threat but an object of observation. Even if she hadn't known all that Alex had shared with her, Wednesday still would not have feared this clown. In her eyes, he was nothing more than material for a future book. A fleeting thought—that she was not the one who should be afraid here, but the one already being hunted by a real predator—brought a faint trace of amusement to her.
Pennywise frowned for a moment as he looked at Wednesday, sensing no fear or emotion at all.
"Has the little black crow gotten lost in my nest? Hee-hee-hee… Welcome home, Wednesday. Cozy here, isn't it?" he said cheerfully, jumping from the carnival cart and waving a handful of red balloons.
"Quite a cozy place. I might even live here," Wednesday replied calmly, staring at him without emotion. "But to do that, I'd have to kick out one very chatty and annoying clown."
"Oh-oh-oh! Angry Wednesday wants to evict poor dancing clown Pennywise from his home. How am I supposed to live now? Where should I go? Maybe you want to fly with everyone, Wednesday? Let's fly—it's fun!" he whined theatrically, then his expression abruptly changed, stretching into a wide, unnatural grin.
"I think I'll pass," Wednesday said indifferently, directing her flashlight beam straight at his face.
At her words and reaction, Pennywise recoiled as if he had sensed something vile. His body trembled slightly, and new cracks appeared across his face, as if the porcelain mask were beginning to crumble from within. He snorted with irritation and disgust, feeling no fear from her at all. This enraged him. It infuriated him. And—far more dangerously—it frightened him.
He could sense her hidden fears, but they were buried so deeply that they hardly mattered to Wednesday herself. For a being like Pennywise, this was unthinkable. Especially now, having just awakened after a twenty-seven-year slumber and encountering not the usual prey but someone who not only felt no fear but kept their own terrors under complete control.
Wednesday calmly watched him retreat from her, as if she were contagious. The only new emotion, besides disappointment, was contempt. And it was precisely that which affected Pennywise more strongly than any scream or panic ever could. He kept backing away until he suddenly stopped and stretched his lips into a wide, predatory grin— as if he had finally found the right thread.
He had sensed her hidden fear.
And decided to seize it.
"Want a balloon?" he crooned, leaning unnaturally to the side so that his head nearly touched the ground. "Red… like your favorite visions of blood. They float. And you will float. I can feel it. You smell like death, girl. Cold. Sweet."
Pennywise extended a bunch of scarlet balloons toward Wednesday. From inside them came screams of pain and despair— familiar voices that would have made anyone else's heart clench. Wednesday, however, looked at it all with open boredom. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that perhaps Pennywise was still too weak after awakening and therefore incapable of coming up with anything truly worthwhile. The realization brought only another irritated sigh.
One by one, the balloons began to burst. Fragments of bodies fell out, dressed in all-too-familiar clothing— Nevermore Academy uniforms, and more. Among the scraps of fabric, Wednesday noticed a piece of a black-and-white striped sweater.
"An interesting way to use balloons," she said coldly, looking away from the scrap of cloth that should have belonged to Pugsley. "Do you collect trophies? Cute. But balloons are for children. I expected more from a clown who loves to scare people so much."
Pennywise's smile faltered. New cracks spread across his face, as if he were about to fall apart. The fear he craved still did not appear. The hunger, on the other hand, only intensified. Every word from Wednesday, every trace of her indifference, provoked him further. The desire to consume her grew with every second, turning into an obsessive thirst.
His smile stretched wider and wider, viscous saliva beginning to drip from his mouth, as if he were preparing for a feast. Pennywise knew: the more difficult the prey, the sweeter it was. And standing before him was exactly such a dessert— one that had to be broken, made to suffer, before being devoured.
His form began to distort.
His features blurred, taking on the shape of Morticia. But not the dark and majestic Morticia— rather, a pitiful, twisted reflection of her: an ordinary housewife in bright clothes with a white apron. Her straight black hair was styled into a typical, boring hairstyle. The image was wrong. Insulting.
Wednesday felt a brief flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by disgust. She could not understand what Pennywise hoped to achieve by showing her this. One thing was clear: her mother looked revolting in that form.
"Wednesday, my dear…" he spoke in Morticia's soft, gentle voice as he approached. "You are not afraid of the darkness. You are afraid of the light. Afraid of becoming ordinary. Colorful dresses. Fake smiles. Friends who don't understand your love of pain. A family that will force you to pretend to be happy. You hide your loneliness beneath a black dress. No one will understand you. Not Pugsley, not even your mother. You will be alone. Forever. An empty, mundane life. You will become like everyone else. Such a delicious fear, Wednesday… I can feel it waking up."
"Are you trying to scare me with normality?" Wednesday replied calmly, taking a step forward. "That's almost cute. I never thought that seeing my mother like this would make me feel even more disgust."
She looked at him without emotion.
"My life will never be normal. Yours, however… is coming to an end. You will starve to death, clown. You will be forgotten. No one will fear you. You will vanish, like the hollow thing you truly are. A pathetic imitation of a creature capable of frightening only ordinary people. I expected more. But you turned out to be boring."
With every word she spoke, Wednesday took a step closer to Pennywise, and each of her words provoked in him an ever more obvious revulsion, as if he were sensing the stench of something alien and fundamentally incompatible with his nature. It was not mere rejection— it was the instinctive response of a predator confronted with something it could neither understand nor consume.
Pennywise could no longer maintain the image of a "normal" Morticia. His body jerked, his face twisted, and he began to change. First, Gomez appeared before Wednesday— ordinary, stripped of his usual dark charisma. Almost immediately, that image shifted into Pugsley, then Enid, then other Nevermore students. He cycled through forms one after another, desperately trying to provoke any reaction from her— fear, confusion, anger. But on Wednesday's face there was still only boredom, and in her eyes, cold, detached indifference.
Pennywise retreated farther and farther, writhing in disgust, as if her very gaze caused him pain. Wednesday stopped just a couple of steps away from him and looked at him the way one looks at an empty shell— something devoid of substance. At that moment, deep within Pennywise, fear stirred for the first time.
And then something unexpected happened.
Pennywise burst into laughter— loud, cheerful, insane. His face, previously riddled with cracks, began to heal rapidly, returning to its familiar form. He was feeding on fear again— not hers, but the fear of those he had so desperately tried to devour.
Wednesday noticed the change and merely raised an eyebrow slightly, not quite understanding what was happening. Pennywise stopped laughing and hopped cheerfully in place, as if something genuinely amusing had occurred. Wednesday's presence no longer disturbed him— now it entertained him.
His smile warped again, revealing sharp, unnatural teeth, and in the same instant thick, rusty chains snapped shut around Wednesday. She did not react. Pennywise began to prance around her, humming a jaunty tune, clearly in high spirits.
"What is it that has you so amused, clown? Have your brains finally melted, and these are just your death throes?" Wednesday asked calmly, ignoring the chains that tightened with every passing second as she watched him leap around her with a wide grin.
"No, no, no… and once again no, my little Wednesday," Pennywise drawled, stopping in front of her and leaning closer. "I can feel your fear. You suppress it, but it is there. And now, you and I are going to relive your most terrifying, most nightmarish dream together. The one where you can't change anything. Where you are just an ordinary girl. This will be so much fun. Very much fun. Your screams will be music to my ears."
"Fear is for the weak," Wednesday replied indifferently. "And you are hungry. Leave, before I decide to call someone who is a far more dangerous predator than you."
"And who might that be? Who?" Pennywise giggled. "Tell me, Wednesday. Amuse the good old clown, and in return I'll give you balloons made from your family's heads. You'll float together. Always together. With everyone."
Pennywise had gotten too close. Wednesday looked him in the face, drew the knife from her pocket, and swung it sharply, forcing the clown to step back. But he easily dodged, laughing loudly as if mocking her attempt. Wednesday merely gripped the handle of the knife tighter.
She had expected Pennywise to show her true fears— the ones she could fight. But instead, her "nightmare" was the most mundane of things: an ordinary life, a normal family, a mundane existence. And that stirred not fear, but disgust. Wednesday knew that alongside Alex, she would never face a normal life— and she was perfectly fine with that.
She also noticed the obvious: Pennywise had still failed to take Alex's form. And that didn't surprise her. Alex wasn't just a human— he was something far more dangerous than a clown used to preying on the weak.
Watching the laughing Pennywise, Wednesday shifted her gaze past him and met a painfully familiar dark stare. Her black eyes locked with Alex's rainbow-colored ones, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her face.
From the very first meeting, he had always come to her aid. He had always been there. The thought of how their chance encounter at Jericho's café had grown into something more made her heart beat faster. Wednesday would never be like her mother— never. But that didn't mean she wasn't capable of loving someone who accepted her as she was, and being loved in return.
Pennywise sensed the change in her emotions and snorted in disgust again.
"I don't need to call him," Wednesday said calmly. "He's already behind you."
Pennywise grinned mischievously and turned his head. Standing next to him was a silhouette slightly taller than he was. He lifted his gaze— still brimming with amusement— and met eyes filled with rage and a thirst for blood.
It was Alex.
He looked at Pennywise like food. Like something that would satisfy his desire to destroy creatures like this. A wide, distorted smile stretched across his face, revealing sharp teeth, and in that moment Pennywise faltered again, unsure of what had gone wrong.
"What's up, clown?" Alex said darkly.
Not long before Wednesday had confronted Pennywise, and Alex had come to her aid, the whole group had been traveling in the moving house on wheels. It looked more like a luxury tour bus than an ordinary RV— spacious, comfortable, and clearly expensive.
Alex sat behind Lucina, giving her a shoulder massage while the other girls waited their turn, passing the time with various activities. Wednesday, as usual, was fully immersed in her book, rhythmically tapping away at her typewriter, paying no attention to anything else around her.
Dean was driving the RV. This vehicle had already earned an honorable second place in his personal ranking— just after, of course, his beloved Impala. Sam sat nearby in a comfortable passenger seat, eyes closed, listening to an audiobook, completely disconnected from the outside world.
GIR, Mimi, Stitch, and Thing had settled around the table, playing poker while simultaneously demolishing another box of snacks. They argued, cheated, and pretended no one noticed.
During the trip, they still couldn't agree on where to head first: Derry, or toward Silent Hill and a couple of other problematic towns. In the end, they left it up to chance, deciding to deal with wherever the road took them. After all, it didn't really matter—whether it was hunting a cosmic clown or stopping a cult mid-ritual, both problems needed solving.
Dean was in high spirits and, barely glancing at the map, took the right turn at a fork in the road, missing the road sign. He relied on the built-in navigation on the dashboard, confidently steering onto a long highway.
The sun was slowly dipping toward sunset. About an hour into the drive, Dean felt his stomach start to betray him with a rumble. They'd been on the road for nearly half a day, evening was approaching, and thoughts of food were becoming obsessive. He glanced at Sam and lightly patted him on the shoulder.
"Dude, what's up?" Sam asked, startled.
"Switch with me, or I'm gonna starve. And I need the bathroom too," Dean said, nodding toward the wheel.
"That I need to know about your bathroom situation is not necessary," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Quit whining and take the wheel," Dean cut him off, slightly annoyed.
Sam turned off his audiobook and, grumbling under his breath, started swapping seats with his brother while the RV was still moving. In that moment, neither of them noticed another road sign—an old, faded sign reading "Derry," indicating the town was only 120 kilometers away.
Sam took the wheel, and Dean stretched wearily, loosening his stiff muscles. The RV wasn't fast due to its size, and hours on the road were taking their toll. Stretching, Dean headed straight for the bathroom, passing Alex and the girls.
He glanced briefly at Alex, who was now giving Enid a shoulder massage. She smiled blissfully, clearly enjoying the moment. Dean smirked and continued past Wednesday, who was furiously typing. A pile of crumpled sheets surrounded her—failed fragments that hadn't passed her strict selection.
A little further on, GIR, Mimi, Stitch, and Thing were still playing poker for food, animatedly arguing and shuffling cards.
After taking care of his business, Dean peeked into the fridge. Pulling out a beer and a container of sandwiches, he once again appreciated just how convenient it was to travel in a place like this. Bathroom, shower, fridge, small kitchen—everything needed for life on the road. He didn't even bother estimating how much money Alex had sunk into this purchase, and honestly, he didn't particularly care.
Dean settled on the couch across from Alex and the girls, holding an open bottle of beer in one hand and a sandwich in the other, which disappeared in just two bites.
"You know, you could get used to this," he said, stretching his legs with a satisfied look.
"Yeah, you could get used to this," Enid agreed, squinting with pleasure while Alex continued the massage.
"I think Dean wasn't talking about the massage, but the comfort on the road," Samantha smirked.
"And that too, you could get used to," Enid purred, cat-like, half-closing her eyes.
"Alright, enough lounging. Now it's my turn," Alice said, lightly nudging Enid with her foot. "You've had enough."
"Just five more minutes," Enid muttered without opening her eyes.
"Your five minutes were five minutes ago. Get up," Alice said, trying to pull her from the couch.
"Ha, Enid, you better give in," Dean smirked. "Not all of us are centuries-old vampires. Age, you know, it takes its toll."
"Go to hell, Dean," Alice snorted, pointing at him. "You're the oldest here. You're always creaking and complaining. I'll stay young, and you're almost forty."
Dean's smirk vanished immediately. He clenched his teeth in irritation, unsure how to respond to another jab.
Alex heard the brief exchange between Alice and Dean and just quietly smiled, continuing Enid's massage. His movements were calm and confident, as if nothing happening around him could touch him.
When the massage ended, Enid lazily opened her eyes, already knowing that her blissful moment was over. As much as she wanted it to last just a little longer, she had to get up and give her spot to Alice.
Alice instantly forgot the argument with Dean and, with a wide, satisfied smile, sat between Alex's legs, ready for her session.
No one noticed that the familiar sound of the typewriter had suddenly stopped.
While Enid wondered what to do to pass the rest of the trip, her gaze fell on Wednesday. She was sitting with her head on the table, motionless.
Slightly curious and thinking that Wednesday might have fallen asleep, Enid quietly approached her to wake her up.
"Wednesday, wake up…" Enid whispered, gently touching her shoulder.
At that moment, Wednesday's head slowly turned.
And Enid saw black tears streaming from her eyes.
Enid's heart dropped. She immediately understood what it meant. During the hunt for the Banshee that had been terrorizing the residents of the nursing home, Wednesday had already experienced visions—and those visions had helped quickly track and capture the creature.
During one of those visions, Wednesday had also shed black tears. Back then, she had asked for it not to be mentioned to anyone. Especially not to Alex.
Enid panicked. She tried to wake Wednesday as quickly as possible before Alex noticed the tears.
"Wednesday… Wednesday!" she whispered, shaking her friend.
But no matter how hard Enid tried, Wednesday didn't respond. And that's when Enid noticed something that truly terrified her.
Dark marks began appearing on Wednesday's neck and arms—as if something invisible was constricting her, squeezing her like chains. Enid realized: something very bad was happening. There was no time to hesitate.
"Alex! Something's happening to Wednesday!" she shouted, spinning around sharply.
Alex, who had been massaging Alice, instantly heard the scream. He jumped up from his seat and rushed to Enid. The others also stood and crowded around. Everyone saw the same thing: invisible chains seemed to be tightening around Wednesday, and black tears continued to stream from her eyes.
Alex frowned and immediately understood what was happening. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, Wednesday had somehow entered Pennywise's personal world—his twisted, mental lair.
The realization that Wednesday was now alone with Pennywise made Alex clench his teeth so hard they ground together audibly.
At that moment, he wanted only one thing—to tear the clown apart. All his plans to chase Pennywise through the sewers and interfere with his hunting of children instantly became secondary.
Pennywise had touched what Alex never allowed anyone to touch. Lucina was the first to notice the sharp change in his expression and immediately understood everything. Alice did too. They knew Alex far too well.
"Alex, what's going on?" Dean asked, frowning at his dark expression.
"Sam, cut the engine and pull over! Dean, call Castiel. Things are about to happen," Alex said sharply, looking at Dean.
Sam and Dean didn't fully understand what was going on, but seeing Alex's gaze—cold and full of rage—they obeyed without question. Sam pulled over, cut the engine, and immediately joined the others.
Alex approached Wednesday, let out a quiet breath, placed his palm on her forehead, and closed his eyes. In that instant, he found himself in Pennywise's personal domain—in his rotten, twisted world inside the sewers, where he dragged his victims.
Looking up, Alex saw floating children's corpses in the air. Looking down, he saw Pennywise standing right in front of Wednesday. Then he saw Wednesday herself. A faint smile crossed her face as she saw Alex.
Seeing that Wednesday hadn't succumbed to fear, Alex felt a momentary relief. But it vanished immediately. He looked down and saw a piece of iron pipe at his feet. Picking it up, he approached Pennywise from behind and stopped.
After Wednesday's words, Pennywise began to turn his head. Alex looked down on him—like a predator observing its prey. His lips stretched into a snarl, revealing sharp teeth, and his fingers gripped the iron pipe tightly.
"What's up, clown?" Alex said grimly.
Before Pennywise could say anything or even react, Alex swung the pipe with full force, striking the clown's face. The sound of the blow—a dry, metallic crash—echoed through the room.
Pennywise was flung to the side like a bullet and slammed into the wall. The dull thud of flesh against stone mixed with the sound of breaking bones.
Alex didn't even glance in his direction.
Since Pennywise loved making others fly—let him fly himself. Though not for long.
Alex's gaze was fixed on Wednesday's calm face. She showed almost no emotion. Alex stepped closer and, without the slightest effort, tore apart the rusty chains that bound her.
"I see you weren't scared," he said.
"It was boring. I'm more disappointed than anything," Wednesday replied coldly, rubbing her wrists. "You described this clown as something terrifying, something horrible, capable of dragging out the deepest fears. And in the end, he turned out to be pathetic."
Alex just laughed, leaned down, and kissed her on the lips. Wednesday rolled her eyes in response to the display of affection, but she accepted the kiss anyway. When they pulled back, both of them looked to the side.
Pennywise was standing off to the side, propping his cheeks with his hands, wearing a wide, childishly cheerful smile. He waved happily, as if encouraging them to continue.
Alex smirked wider, placed his palm on Wednesday's head—and she vanished, returning to her body.
Left alone, Pennywise clapped his hands, as though enjoying the performance he had just witnessed.
Without taking his eyes off him, Alex pulled a cigarette from his pocket and clenched it between his teeth.
"Hee hee hee… You smell of other worlds, kid. Want a balloon?" Pennywise drawled. A bright balloon appeared in his hand, which he demonstratively held out in front of him.
"You know where I'm about to shove that balloon?" Alex replied calmly, exhaling smoke and tapping the pipe against his shoulder. "And I'm afraid you won't find it very fun when it happens."
"Naughty… oh, how naughty you are," Pennywise wagged a finger. "And naughty children need to be punished."
"You're funny," Alex said with an empty stare. "Breaking you is going to be fun. So go on—show me your true form. Or I'll make you."
He lowered his hand, pointing the pipe straight at the clown. Pennywise merely tilted his head to the side, pretending not to understand.
Alex exhaled smoke—and in that same instant appeared right beside him. The iron pipe slammed into Pennywise's face with a crunch, his features literally caving inward. Before Alex could land the next blow, the clown raised a hand and effortlessly stopped the pipe.
"So what will you do now, boy who smells of other worlds?" Pennywise chuckled as his face rapidly restored itself.
"This," Alex answered shortly.
He lowered the pipe and sharply grabbed Pennywise by the collar. In the next moment, Alex smashed his forehead into the clown's head. Pennywise's skull burst like an overripe fruit, leaving only a mouth behind, from which infectious, insane laughter poured out.
"Oh no… you killed me…" Pennywise giggled. "Heh heh heh… just kidding."
Alex merely rolled his eyes and began raining blows down on Pennywise's face, again and again. When he prepared for the next strike, the clown's head split open, revealing a massive, tooth-filled maw, from which a bright yellow light of deadlights poured out.
But unlike everyone else who had seen that light and fallen into a stupor, Alex didn't react at all. On the contrary—he drove his fist straight into Pennywise's maw, trying to grab the deadlights themselves.
Realizing his miscalculation, Pennywise tried to snap his jaws shut to keep Alex from reaching the lights and, at the same time, bite his arm off. The maw closed around Alex's arm with a grim clap. But Alex didn't even flinch—he simply planted his foot against the clown's stomach.
"Open wide, here comes the choo-choo train… I said—open your mouth, you uneducated piece of trash!" Alex rasped, grabbing Pennywise's jaws with his free hand.
He clamped down with his free hand and began pulling downward, pressing upward with the other. Gradually, Pennywise's mouth gave way, and Alex tightened his grip as if he wanted to tear it in two.
Pennywise's hands turned into blades, slashing at Alex's body, but metal and bone simply bounced off, not even scratching his clothes. Alex, with a wide, insane grin, slowly stretched the clown's mouth, savoring the process.
Suddenly, hundreds of children's hands closed around him, enveloping his body—including Alex's arms—leaving only his head free. Pennywise lightly stroked his jaw and made a magical gesture, like a magician showing a trick, flaunting that he was intact and unharmed.
Alex bared his sharp teeth and sank them into the clown's hand. Blood sprayed across his face as he tore a chunk of flesh away. In that moment, Pennywise felt a brief but intense fear of death—a sensation he had never known before. It imprinted instantly in his mind as hundreds of hands began dragging Alex into the dark sewer tunnel.
"I'm coming for you, Pennywise!" Alex shouted with manic laughter. "Soon we'll continue our game, and I'll devour you. You only got away because I let you. Soon I'll be in Derry, and our fun game begins! Wait for me, clown! Because we're going to have a blast!"
Pennywise frowned for a moment, meeting Alex's eyes, then waved happily, signaling he was ready to play. His smile was as wide as Alex's, revealing dozens of rows of razor-sharp teeth.
When the children's hands pulled Alex into the darkness, he suddenly opened his eyes and found himself back in the RV. Everyone stared at him, stunned and bewildered. Without a word, Alex grabbed an empty plastic container and began vomiting blood—chunks of flesh and clothing mixed with vomit. Everyone stepped back, watching.
When he stopped, Alex raised his gaze and met Castiel's eyes, who had arrived at Dean's call.
"Damn… dude, what just happened?" Dean frowned.
"The clown decided to have some fun," Alex replied calmly, wiping the remaining blood.
"Listen… if he hurt you like that, maybe we shouldn't go to Derry just yet?" Sam asked, frowning even more.
"This isn't my blood—it's the clown's. Here, Cass, just like you asked. You said you needed a piece of the clown. Here's a whole container," Alex said, hands covered in blood and flesh.
"Why'd you vomit it up?" Dean asked, watching as Castiel took the container.
"I had to clamp my teeth into his hand. Anyway, I'll clean my teeth and explain everything. That bastard's blood tastes like shit," Alex muttered, suppressing a gag reflex.
Everyone froze, staring at Alex as he casually described biting the clown, as if it were an everyday occurrence. Then their attention shifted to Castiel, who calmly began preparing a spell.
Now all that was left was to wait for Alex to tell the full story. Wednesday remained silent, and no one knew about her vision.
To be continued…
(So, here it is, Pennywise's first appearance. While I was writing this chapter, my head started to hurt, wondering how Pennywise would react to Alex. Anyway, I think we'll finish Derry quickly, and as much as I'd like to drag it out, I just don't see the point. Like, it's already clear where the Clown is and what needs to be done with him. Maybe I can show the whole group's fears, but I'm not sure about that yet. I'll go eat and then I'll think about it.)
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