What the heck?
Whack!
A pipe smashed into Pyramid Head's helmet.
Barry didn't even flinch. He stomped down hard, pinning a churchgoer like a frantic rat caught underfoot.
A crisp crack echoed as the follower's ribs shattered, blood gushing from their mouth.
In a flash, it was all over—blade up, blade down!
The rusty machete slashed diagonally, tearing through flesh. A head flew, spraying blood.
The follower's body and head parted ways, rolling across the ground.
Seeing their comrade's gruesome end, the remaining churchgoers lost their nerve. They turned tail and bolted in the opposite direction.
"Hmph! Think you can run?"
Gripping the handle with both hands, Barry swung his arms, spinning his body to hurl a streak of cold steel.
The wide blade whipped up a bloody gust, turning into a high-speed propeller chasing the fleeing followers' backs.
Two piercing screams rang out in unison.
Crack!
A bone-chopping sound cut through the air, followed by twin sprays of blood.
The massive machete sliced through two spines in an instant, the blade cleaving fragile flesh and lodging into a cracked wall.
The two bisected upper bodies stared with horrified eyes, while their lower halves slowly collapsed.
"Told you not to run. Now look at you, dying all ugly. What's the point?"
Barry crouched down, eyeing the one follower still in one piece.
"N-no… please…"
Blood frothed at the follower's mouth, unable to form a full sentence, their eyes dimming fast.
Lifting his foot off the crushed chest, Barry extended his hand, sharp nails sprouting from his fingertips, pressing into the follower's caved-in ribcage.
Under their terrified gaze, Barry's fingers sank in like five razor-sharp spikes, burrowing deep into the flesh.
Hiss—!
The follower's body convulsed violently, eyes bulging behind goggles, face deathly pale.
"Deep breaths. Pain's normal," Barry said softly, as straw tendrils spread from his hand, rooting into the flesh, savagely draining their life force.
The yellowed scarecrow's face lit up with a drunken expression as the life essence trickled into his straw body, finally getting the nourishment it craved.
Then, Barry repeated the process, draining the life from the other three until only four shriveled husks remained.
They looked too dried up, not a good look for the departed, so Barry kindly stuffed them with clumps of straw.
He'd promised to make these churchgoers feel pain!
Barry only took the physical life force of these vile followers, leaving their souls untouched in Silent Hill.
Those belonged to Dark Alessa, and he didn't mess with them.
Maybe later, Dark Alessa would shove their souls back into their bodies, tweak them, and let them taste pain all over again.
Just like those long-dead seniors who kept "reviving" in the Otherworld.
Dropping his transformation, Barry returned to his scarecrow form, but his size had noticeably changed.
Once basketball-sized, he'd grown to the stature of a small child.
His body's toughness and flexibility had leveled up too.
"No wonder movie villains love being evil. The dark side's just faster," Barry mused, feeling the changes in himself.
With this new harvest, his confidence shot through the roof.
He might be able to do even more.
Slowly, new ideas started brewing.
…
Meanwhile, Alessa's plan was going smoothly.
Alessa had been intensely watching Rose. Before, she'd been all about revenge at any cost, but meeting Rose, she felt the motherly love she'd been missing.
That soul-deep connection warmed her heart, and her love-starved self couldn't resist.
She wanted to replace—or merge with—Sharon.
To claim that love for herself.
So, she needed to guide Rose through the process, to understand her suffering and hear what she had to say.
Only then would Rose truly help and accept her.
Barry, stuck as the helper, couldn't argue and went along with it.
His job, per the original plan, was to secretly protect Sharon and keep her safe from harm.
If Sharon, the embodiment of Alessa's good side, died, there'd be no replacement.
Right now, Barry had just "helped" a few churchgoers wrap up their scenes and exit stage left.
Then he hurried to the next set.
The Otherworld was about to end. Barry walked the pitch-black streets as light rain fell, the drifting ash returning to the sky.
Strolling through the rain, he passed faceless monsters and stopped at an ordinary shop far from the church.
The shop's useful supplies had long been looted by the churchgoers.
A thin strand of straw extended from his pinky, slipping into the lock. After some fiddling, click—the door opened.
Barry stepped inside.
Clang!
A sudden crash of objects came from within.
Someone was inside.
"Mommy?" a small girl's voice cautiously called out.
Sharon had just woken up in a dark place, surrounded by terrifying things moving outside.
Her trusted mom was gone. Scared, she didn't dare leave or cry out loud.
"Hee hee, little girl, no mommy here—just your uncle!"
Barry's raspy voice carried a villainous chuckle.
The girl screamed, her body trembling as she huddled under the counter.
"Sweetie, if you don't come out, your uncle's gonna get mad."
Sharon didn't make a sound, even slowing her breathing, her mind chanting, Mommy, save me.
Footsteps echoed, Barry's figure moving closer, then farther, as if searching for her.
"Jie jie jie! If I can't catch you, guess I'll just grab your mommy instead."
After a token lap around the shop, Barry tossed out a threatening taunt.
Your uncle loves messing with kids.
"No! Don't take my mommy!"
Hearing her mom was in danger, Sharon panicked, scrambling out from under the counter.
"Hee hee, gotcha."
A creepy laugh came from behind. Sharon, like a startled bunny, hopped back several steps.
She turned to see a warm candle's glow lighting up the room.
Barry had grabbed it on his way.
The light chased away the dark, bringing a bit of safety.
Now, Sharon finally saw Barry's true form—a weird, ugly scarecrow, shorter than her.
The scariest things are often the unknown.
She'd been terrified before, but seeing the real deal, her fear eased up.
"Who… who are you?"
"Just what you see—a scarecrow," Barry said, dropping the bad-guy act. He set the candlestick on the counter, speaking in a kind, gentle tone.