A wide, aggressive fighting style.
Once one side gained the upper hand, the outcome was decided fast.
Catching Pyramid Head's wind-up, Barry slammed a fierce elbow strike, breaking his stance.
Barry swung a massive machete, scraping the ground, then kicked the blade's back for extra speed, launching it upward with the force to cleave mountains.
A half-circle arc sliced through, the blade chopping off the tip of Pyramid Head's helmet.
Pyramid Head staggered, staring blankly at the spinning helmet fragment in midair, radiating unspeakable grief.
"You dare get distracted? You're not even taking me seriously!"
Barry put his all into it, twisting his waist and hips for a powerful spinning slash.
Pyramid Head instinctively raised his blade to block.
Duang!
A thunderous clash rang out.
Pyramid Head, along with his blade, was sent flying.
Barry didn't let up. He chased after him in a few steps, wielding the machete like a golf club. No need to aim—just swing hard.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Each hit landed perfectly.
"You messed with me? I'll smack you like a damn pinata!" Barry snickered to himself, keeping up a serious front to show respect for his opponent.
In a few blows, Pyramid Head crashed through several walls, his body unable to take the beating, crumbling into ash and fading away to await his resurrection cooldown.
Probably wouldn't be back at full strength until the next Otherworld hit.
…
Life in Silent Hill went on. Barry made a point to write in his journal every day, hoping Alessa would see it and feel his "true, good, and beautiful" side.
In his free time, he'd hang out with Alessa by her hospital bed, spinning her some thrilling revenge stories.
Alessa ate it up, her daydreaming sessions stretching longer each day. If her body weren't so frail, she'd probably be acting them out.
Occasionally, Barry would spar with Pyramid Head, usually coming out on top. He was getting stronger, even picking up Pyramid Head's bug-summoning trick.
Other times, he'd mess around, shapeshifting into different forms for some deep cosplay.
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But out of all the forms, only a few were useful: Jason, Pyramid Head, and a shotgun-blasted chest-hole monster. Those packed a punch.
The rest? Without enough info, he couldn't even nail the basic shapes, let alone inherit their special abilities.
After a bunch of tries, Barry realized how lucky he'd been to snag Jason's mask.
It wasn't just a mask—he'd ripped off and devoured a chunk of Jason's soul.
If he weren't in Silent Hill, cut off in another dimension, Jason might've ditched his Crystal Lake gigs just to hunt Barry down and gut him.
Too bad for Jason, finding the way in was next to impossible, let alone tracking Barry.
But as long as Jason was still kicking in the real world, he'd never let this slide. If he sensed Barry, nine times out of ten, he'd come knocking.
Barry's take? Future problems, future solutions.
Sure, in the real world, his scrawny arms and legs were no match for jacked-up Jason. But after swallowing the mask, the cracked hockey mask that regrew gave his body insane recovery powers.
Not as good as the original, but the knockoff version was enough to keep him alive.
Plus, he had a killer move—straw entanglement—that could even hold Pyramid Head for a bit. Was he really scared of some punk like Jason?
Tch! Just a loser who couldn't even beat him in the resurrection game!
If Jason hadn't gotten stupidly lucky, he'd never have made it back to the real world with Barry.
Woo-woo-woo!
Silent Hill's air raid siren blared through the town.
The Otherworld's darkness was coming. The churchgoers fled to the church, moving faster and more frantically than before, like something was chasing them.
"Hey! Don't run! I'll chop you to bits!"
A raspy, grating voice mixed with the chaotic footsteps. A tiny, foot-tall scarecrow with stubby limbs grinned, dragging a short knife, chasing the crowd.
This was Barry, reborn and back in action.
During the day, the dark power in him went dormant, sluggish, with no way to recharge.
So, in daylight, compared to Silent Hill's usual monsters, he could roam freely but couldn't tap into the dark power. That meant no going on a killing spree.
Still, Barry charged in, swinging his little knife, dishing out scratches like a bad pedicure.
"Gonna carve you punks up! Stab! Stab! Stab!"
The tiny scarecrow scurried forward, jabbing and poking.
"Argh! The demon's coming! Run!"
The churchgoers, like spooked chickens, didn't dare stop, scrambling for the church door.
On the surface, Barry's attacks did jack squat. Wasn't this just a waste of time?
But it put pressure on them, forcing them to double down on their faith.
It wasn't that simple, though.
Fear, pain, resentment, sorrow—the negative emotions spilling from the churchgoers were absorbed by Silent Hill's space, fueling the dark power.
Bit by bit, day by day, it added up to a nice little haul.
Thud! The door slammed shut again.
"Jie jie jie! I'll be watching you forever!"
Barry stood outside, his sinister laugh making the cowardly churchgoers inside tremble, muttering, "My God! My God!"
Inside, warmed by candlelight, Bishop Chrisbella calmed the panicked crowd.
"Don't freak out. Demons can't enter this holy church. This door is a barrier they can't cross."
"Faith will drive out the darkness. Now, let's pray."
"I see them… heaven and earth flee from their presence…"
The prayers rose.
"Pfft—blegh!"
Outside, Barry morphed into a faceless, armless monster with a gaping chest hole. After charging up, he spewed a thick, black liquid.
A massive glob of corrosive acid hit the door, eating through it, melting it, and sending up wisps of foul black smoke.
The door sprouted jagged holes, but the acid hit an invisible barrier, sliding to the ground, leaving the floor pitted and uneven.
This damn faith, protecting people like them? What a freaking joke!
If he'd known, he would've gorged on their light like a buffet.
Blegh!
After spitting a few more globs of acid, Barry swaggered off.
…
The outside world, night.
Sharon, Alessa's good half, was sleepwalking again, muttering Silent Hill's name. In her dream-talk, she called it home.
Her parents chased after her, hearts aching, knowing her old condition had flared up.
Sharon was their adopted daughter from an orphanage, plagued by sleepwalking. This wasn't the first time.
But it was the first time she'd wandered so far from home—and nearly fallen off a cliff.