The two thugs flinched. The one on the left instinctively froze, then rolled to the side. The one on the right hesitated for half a second, his breath catching, before swinging his pipe wildly.
Barry lunged forward, gripping his scavenged pipe tightly. He ducked under a sweeping blow from the right thug and closed in on the left one, swinging his pipe down with all his might.
Crack!
A sharp sound rang out as the thug, wearing a makeshift hood, went rigid. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground.
"Damn it!" the right thug cursed, furiously swinging his pipe again and again.
The dull thuds of his attacks echoed in the air.
Barry rolled on the ground, dodging one strike after another.
That's enough.
Barry thought to himself.
He was now just a step away from the door.
Seizing the moment, Barry planted one hand on the ground, shot out his right leg, and hooked it inward. The thug, who'd been swinging wildly and missing, couldn't react in time. He stumbled and crashed hard to the ground.
With both obstacles down, Barry sprang to his feet, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
That's it?
You guys are way too slow to keep up with me!
His back was to the crowd now.
One hand reached for the door handle.
He yanked it hard.
…
Huh?
The door barely budged.
Barry's face froze. What the hell? Who locked the door? Have some manners!
He spun around. A few steps away, five or six armed thugs had already blocked off every escape route.
Son of a—! You all want me dead, huh?
Fine, bring it on!
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Without another word, the group rushed him, swinging their pipes in a frenzy, all aiming for Barry.
"Yah!" Barry managed to block two pipes, but in the next second, several rusty rebars struck at his unprotected spots.
Within moments, he was disarmed. The mob swarmed him, kicking him to the ground with a flurry of blows.
Thud, thud, thud!
The sounds of brutal impacts filled the air.
Barry lost count of how many kicks he took. His handsome face was no longer recognizable.
Half a minute later, battered and barely clinging to life, he was covered in bruises and cuts.
The thugs grabbed his legs, dragging him across the floor, leaving a long trail of blood until they reached the center of the church.
There, a pile of firewood was waiting.
"Those born of evil must be purified by the fires of hell!" High Priestess Christabella proclaimed, whipping the congregation into a frenzy.
"Burn him! Burn him!"
"Burn the witch!"
"Wait, isn't he a guy?" "Looking that good, that evil—he's gotta be a witch who changed his face!"
"Burn, burn, burn!"
"…"
High up on the wooden pyre, Barry was tightly bound with coarse rope.
His swollen eyes opened groggily, his vision blurred by blood. His body felt impossibly heavy, the pain from bruised tissue and broken bones overwhelming.
Agony surged through him like a tidal wave, hammering his nerves.
He nearly passed out, but an intense, searing heat forced him to stay conscious.
It was hot, unbearably so, as if his entire body was being cooked from the outside in, like he was trapped in a furnace.
The flames ignited the dry wood, and the fire roared to life.
A faint smell of burning flesh began to drift through the air.
Under the intense heat, his clothes caught fire first. Then his skin started to char, followed by his muscles, tendons, and organs—all consumed by the blaze.
The flames licked at his body, turning it into kindling.
In the end, only the firelight remained, reflected in his unblinking eyes.
"We've seen through the schemes of evil and purified the unclean! All wickedness will be cast out!" Christabella declared triumphantly, gazing at the charred remains as she addressed the congregation.
This ritual would serve as a temporary shot in the arm for the numb believers.
…
The blazing fire.
Burning, burning!
The choking smoke stung, making it impossible to keep his eyes open.
But why was there only darkness before him?
At some point, Barry heard chaotic shouts, like a swarm of buzzing flies.
A deep sadness washed over him. He felt something precious slipping away.
He should fight to hold onto it, to save it, to take it back.
But why, in this moment, could he do nothing?
Even his thoughts were fading.
Who…
am…
I?
…
Thud!
An old backpack was tossed onto the roadside. Its useful contents had already been looted, leaving only worthless junk behind.
"Well, damn! Who'd have thought this outsider was so good at scavenging? Lucky us!" one of the cultists sneered.
"Heh, let's go. We've dumped this cursed bag far enough from the church."
Not wanting to keep anything tied to this "evil" person, the two cultists tossed the backpack in a spot far from the church.
The ever-present ash floated down with the wind.
Slowly, the backpack was buried under a thick layer of dust.
Woo, woo, woo—!
The air raid siren wailed, as it did every day.
Soon after, the foggy, gray sky darkened, and a heavy shadow fell over Silent Hill.
The ash rose back into the air.
The ground, walls, metal, and bricks—everything decayed rapidly, peeling away to reveal bloodstained surfaces beneath.
The streets were deserted.
No one would dare wander out when the dark forces took hold.
Unless, of course, they weren't human.
Tap, tap!
Footsteps approached, growing louder.
A small girl, innocent-looking with a cute face, dressed in a blue school uniform, walked slowly toward the bag.
She crouched down, unzipped the backpack, and pulled out a flattened straw doll from its deepest pocket.
Dark Alessa held the tiny straw figure in her palm, her black eyes studying it for a long time.
In Silent Hill's realm, her dark powers could only fully manifest in the Otherworld. The monstrous creatures she'd twisted into existence relied on her power to survive and appear.
But now, Dark Alessa could keenly sense that this straw doll, carrying Barry's soul, was slowly absorbing the faint particles of ash in the air.
In other words, it was quietly stealing her dark power.
She'd thought it was just a meal delivered to her doorstep, but it turned out to be a bold thief.
The crushed straw doll seemed almost alive, its exposed body trembling faintly as it absorbed the floating ash.
"Born evil, huh? Even on the brink of death, you're still pulling greedy stunts like this?" Dark Alessa muttered to herself, knowing Barry's clouded soul couldn't hear her.
"What? Alessa, you're saying you want to save him? Why?"
Dark Alessa spoke as if arguing with herself, like someone split in two.
"Because he's good?"
"Fine, you're right. Compared to those cultists, he's definitely a decent guy."
"But his body's blacker than the purest charcoal now. Even I can't bring a pile of ash back to life."
"After all, even you haven't fully healed, have you?"