Alessa made her way to a cemetery on the edge of Silent Hill, then came to a stop.
Barry trailed right behind her, scratching his head a bit. "Who are we here to pay respects to?"
Alessa pointed at a gravestone, the inscription reading—
Barry, a stranger washed up in this forgotten place.
"I'm paying tribute to... myself?" Barry's face lit up with a mix of shock and something like awe.
"Nah. Dig it up. The ritual needs what's inside." That's what Alessa said.
Well, if it was gonna come in handy, might as well let his old self shine one last time.
Since he'd buried it himself way back when, Barry had no trouble unearthing it again.
Half a minute later, out came this fancy big box.
Inside? The charred remains of Barry's old body.
Hauling the box back to the hospital.
Alessa laid out her plan.
It boiled down to splitting off the "good" side of her soul, then using flesh tied deepest to that soul—like a seed—to sprout a whole new being.
But uploading her consciousness to this fresh body? That meant packing it with extra materials to hold the power and the mind.
The trickiest part? Nailing the balance just right.
The new body couldn't be too strong, or it'd never squeeze out into the real world.
But it couldn't be total mush either—no power at all—and then it'd just be some average joe's shell, too flimsy to carry the weight of a soul.
He got the basics of how it worked; sounded doable enough.
The rest? Leave it to the wild magic of the ritual and the pull of dark forces.
The two of them ran through it over and over, hashing out every detail till it was airtight.
Then—
Wooo-wooo-wooo!
The air raid siren wailed, and boom—they were deep in the Otherworld.
The ritual kicked off for real.
The big box cracked open, and those blackened leftovers floated out, hanging in the air like they had a mind of their own.
Alessa wove her hands into these intricate seals, and thick coils of wire surged up around her bed like crashing waves.
She shot it a glare, and the black remnants shattered, breaking down into tiny bits under the dark energy's grind—like they were getting diced for stew.
Alessa chanted nonstop in some ancient, eerie tongue. The air thickened with chaos, evil, and straight-up darkness, swirling into black fog that swallowed the whole room in no time flat.
Barry's jaw clenched tight, teeth gritted—he was locked and loaded.
Those razor-sharp wires sliced the air with a whistle, then punched right through his skull without mercy.
Then his heart, his spine, his limbs.
Pain exploded everywhere—not just his body, but ripping into his soul like it was personal.
In that insane agony, Barry could barely string two thoughts together, but he clung to the mission: force out the good half of his soul.
"Good deeds, positive vibes, those heartwarming stories on the news, helping granny cross the street, sharing an umbrella in the rain, running a fever on a stormy night, that near-miss car wreck..."
He started daydreaming hard.
All these random acts of kindness fired up his better angels. In that moment, he wasn't fighting solo.
It was like he was living them—every do-gooder tale stacking onto his memories like they were real. He felt it deep: right then, he was pure, true, and as good as they come.
Whispers echoed in his ears, a chorus of "thank yous" from a thousand voices.
Through the shredding torment, the good side of his soul finally broke free!
A ghostly, see-through shadow got yanked straight out of him.
Those waiting remnant particles swarmed it in a flash, blending into a smooth, round ball.
Dark power poured in, and the little orb started swelling.
Riiip!
The wires threading his body yanked out clumps of golden straw, dumping them into the mix.
Silent Hill's ash was pulling back in too, flipping to dark fuel and jump-starting the new body's growth.
The ritual rolled on.
The ball molded slow into something embryo-like. Barry's stare went blank, his mind dipping into a fresh void—a clean slate for the newborn.
...
Night had fallen.
The hospital room in Silent Hill was dead quiet.
Who knows how many days had slipped by.
Barry woke up.
Cracking his eyes, he felt weaker than he'd ever been—like a brand-new baby.
Scratch that.
Weaker than a newborn, even.
He scanned the room and spotted his old shell slumped on the floor, not moving a muscle.
That past body loomed huge, like some giant out of a fairy tale. And coiled beside it? A white-masked stick-bug thing, sized up to match the titan.
"What in the world?"
"Did it work?"
"Where's Alessa?"
Barry checked out his current setup. Sizing himself up against the furniture, he clocked it: he'd shrunk down again.
Focusing on his original form, riding that invisible tether...
Blink—his mind jumped ship.
Thud!
A tiny scarecrow toppled over.
Barry hopped back into his old body, the familiar view snapping into place. He took a few steps, scooped up the palm-sized good-side avatar.
The little straw guy was like a chibi cartoon version of himself—big head, stubby body, total meme material.
Cradling it, Barry felt that brother-from-another-mother bond, like an extra limb. One thought, and zip—his consciousness could slide right in.
He didn't dive into tinkering with the good-side mini-me just yet.
Nah, his brain snagged on something else.
Waking up this time, his power had tanked hard. Even his pet project, the white-masked stick-bug, had downsized.
Weirdest part? The whole vibe had shifted.
Plain as day: the darkness in Silent Hill had thinned out, like the fog lifting after a bad storm.
Price of the ritual!
A bad feeling twisted in Barry's gut. Why no sign of Alessa when he came to?
He stepped out, following muscle memory to Room B151—Alessa's main digs.
Pushed the door, took a couple paces in.
No redheaded nurse in sight. On the bed, Alessa's breathing was shallow as hell.
Barry yanked back the tattered curtains, revealing Alessa with her eyes shut, lost in a peaceful sleep.
"Alessa... Alessa!"
He called her name, but crickets—no answer after forever.
By now, it clicked: through that whole ritual, Alessa had been the one carrying the load.
"You soft-hearted fool... all this gentleness, and it was you paying the price in silence."
Barry let out a heavy sigh. If he'd known the cost would hit this hard, he'd have shut it down flat.
He'd even brainstormed backups, like dialing his power way back and using that creepy book of urban legends to tweak his setup bit by bit—adapting to the outside world, slow as molasses, but hey, it was an option.
He poked around her vitals some more and confirmed she was still kicking—just drained to the bone, needing ages to bounce back.
That drain had rippled out too, messing with Silent Hill's surface and Otherworld alike. They'd sucked the dark too dry before.
Barry just stared, watching her chest rise and fall soft and steady. Suddenly, he felt like the biggest con artist, the bad guy in his own story.
After a beat, he clawed his fingers over his face, body shaking from the ache. Finally, he peeled off that white hockey mask—only two-thirds intact now.
Once it was off, his body yellowed out worse, weakness flooding every inch, but he had to do it.
Gently, he fitted the mask to Alessa's face, letting its regenerative mojo patch her up.
Next up, Barry had to hit the road—out to the real world, hunting for more juice.
For Alessa's quick recovery. For Silent Hill to level up. Hell, for world peace, why not?
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