"FBI! Open the door!"
Barry kicked the heavy doors with all his might, and they flew open with a bang.
Inside the church, every eye locked onto Ross—and the guy standing right next to him, Barry.
Archbishop Chrisbella was draped in her fancy ceremonial robe, surrounded by her flock of devoted followers.
In a pinch like this, sticking together was the smart play.
Chrisbella: "Just as I figured—you showed up, you evil outsider."
Without missing a beat, Ross—desperate to save his daughter—stormed right into the church and hollered, "I'm here. Where's my daughter?"
Chrisbella totally ignored Ross and zeroed in on the figure lurking behind him: that creepy scarecrow that had given her the chills.
Ever since that wild chase, Chrisbella couldn't stop wondering: How the hell did Silent Hill turn into this nightmare?
But Chrisbella? She'd weathered her share of storms. After all these years hustling in Silent Hill, conning all those believers into doing her bidding—she wasn't some lightweight.
That last run-in? It was over in a flash, but once she caught her breath, she'd pieced together a ton of clues.
Unknown twists like this always stem from some wildcard shaking things up.
This book first drops on 101kan.com—serving up error-free chapters, no jumbled mess, just a smooth read.
All it took was clearing the fog, peeling back the layers, and boom—the truth came into focus.
That monster looked just like a walking stick bug, all woven from straw. Had to be connected to the one that attacked the crowd before.
And when it spat out her name? The tone screamed "someone she knew," and that voice... it rang a faint bell.
So, who the heck could it be?
Tough nut to crack.
Chrisbella spent the whole night digging up that body buried in the basement. Then, it hit her.
Right now, she kept going: "Blasphemer Barry. This holy sanctuary? It's the line you can't cross!"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"I crawled back from the depths of hell, Chrisbella!"
Barry let out a cold, raspy chuckle. As his gravelly voice echoed, his body started warping right there. In the horrified stares of the cultists, the scarecrow stretched and twisted, morphing back into that stick-bug freakshow.
"My God..."
The monster shoved its face right up to the doorway, putting on a live horror show just feet away. The faint-hearted believers' knees buckled; they stumbled back behind the archbishop, shielding her like she was the last line of defense.
Old lady Chris forced herself to stay cool, her voice shaking as she barked:
"Don't freak out! I've got this—it's broad daylight, what're we scared of?"
"Our faith is rock-solid; he can't get in."
"We're up against a pathetic little witch, that's all! What, you guys afraid of that?"
"I order you—go grab that witch..."
But before Chrisbella could finish, her throat locked up tight, like some invisible hand was choking her out.
That horrifying straw beast clawed at the doorframe, hunched down, and strolled into the church casual as can be—like some dude ducking into a gas station bathroom mid-road trip.
"Y-y-you... you!"
Chrisbella stammered in sheer terror, her fingers trembling like leaves.
She couldn't wrap her head around it—why the hell could Barry just waltz in like it was nothing?
What happened to the faith? Back me up here!
Barry straightened up, his long spine rigid as a spear. A smirk twisted his lips as he said:
"Surprised? I never said I couldn't come in."
Truth was, Barry could always get in—he just didn't like how the dark vibes got nerfed inside, kinda like him in the daytime.
Back in his prime? Solo dive into that church for a straight-up brawl? Outnumbered as hell, he'd probably end up six feet under again.
That's why he never rolled in without backup.
"Heh heh heh! Don't sweat it—the real party's just getting started!"
Before Chris could puzzle that out, Barry sidled right up to Ross.
"Hang tight; this might sting a bit." With that, he plunged a knife straight into Ross's gut.
Ross jumped at the close-up freakout from Barry, then took the blade like a sucker punch. She stared at him in stunned silence, her brain short-circuiting: Aren't we on the same team? Why stab me? Go after them!
Ross clutched the gushing wound, but the black blood just kept pouring out, no stopping it.
In a heartbeat, the light winked out—no warning, just this ominous darkness swallowing the whole church.
Seconds later, flickers from candles and flashlights cut through.
Ross dropped to her knees, the inky blood soaking the floorboards, eating away at huge patches like acid. Ash started swirling up, floating like dirty snow.
And below? A bottomless, busted-up mine shaft.
Smack in the middle, an iron frame bed rose up slow and eerie—with Alessa laid out on it.
The church had flipped into the Otherworld.
"What the hell have you done, Ross?!"
"You dragged the darkness right into our church! Without faith, how do we fight off the demons?!"
Chrisbella screamed till her voice cracked, unable to believe someone would play sidekick to the devil.
"For Sharon," Ross said, steely as ever.
Archbishop Chrisbella felt this massive dread closing in—a cold grip called death, wrapping her up tight.
Alessa was here.
With barbed wire snaking out everywhere like it was alive, Alessa rolled in on her hospital gurney.
The wire whipped around like tentacles, clearing her path, her extra limbs. In a blink, the church was a jungle of crawling, razor-sharp strands.
You're first on the list!
C! H! R! I! S! B! E! L! L! A!
Alessa's eyes blazed with pure hate.
Endless wire shot out like spears, lashing like whips. In an eyeblink, it snared the loathed archbishop.
Chris wailed "No!" in raw fear, her ugly panic laid bare as death loomed.
The archbishop dangled in the air like a trussed-up turkey, and then—bam—the wire ripped through her from bottom to top.
Flesh shredded in a frenzy, wire slithering out of a thousand holes.
Chris got served pain worse than death itself!
Every second, every inch of her—from skin to guts—tore apart over and over.
Riiiip!
It was gore straight out of some twisted slasher flick—Chris split clean in two, gone for good.
Dark Alessa twirled in the bloodspray, arms wide like she was dancing in the rain.
Meanwhile...
The die-hard cultists had clocked the vibe early and bolted for the back, scrambling toward the church doors.
But talk about a gut punch—the doors had slammed shut tight. Their old shield was now blocking the only way out alive.
And that's when Barry showed up.
With the church plunged into the Otherworld, the dark energy surged back full force. Barry felt power flooding his veins.
He channeled that darkness, and the straw exploded outward—visible growth, wild and unchecked. His body bulked up fast, turning him into this hulking beast of a dude.
Built like a tank, four arms total, face hidden under a white hockey mask, half a metal helmet clamped on his dome.
One hand gripped a massive cleaver, another swung an axe—the extra pair sprouted from his back, longer and thicker than the regulars.
Barry let out a bellow and charged the crowd.
Heaven and earth give us everything; we got nothing to give back but hell!
Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill!
Son of a bitch! You twisted cult freaks are born rotten—time to blow you all to kingdom come!