When he returned to Hell, Freddy's name was bound to climb to an even higher level!
Hehehe!
The future—was made to cheer for Freddy Krueger!
"Woooh!"
"Freddy! Freddy!"
"The new star of Hell! The nightmare of the living! We love you!"
Deafening cheers rose from every direction.
All around the circular arena, the stands were packed with robotic spectators—programmed to shout different lines on cue.
"Finish him! Kill him! Tear him apart!"
In the center stood a massive fighting ring.
On it, Freddy faced his opponent: the last of the patients, the burly Black kid, Kincaid.
In this dream zone, Freddy hadn't suppressed Kincaid's mental powers—he didn't need to. This was his home turf, and in his own arena, Freddy believed himself unbeatable.
Kincaid swung wildly, his punches clumsy but fierce.
Every hit carried his desperate will to live, and that raw energy made Freddy nostalgic, like he was back in his old fighting days.
Kincaid was battling someone he could never truly defeat, even though his punches were strong enough to smash walls and bend metal.
But no matter what—he couldn't win.
And if he gave up… he'd die.
So he kept going, pushing through, hoping for a miracle.
Truth be told, Freddy could've ended the fight long ago. But he didn't. He was toying with Kincaid—no, more like waiting for someone.
And that someone had finally arrived.
At the end of a long spiral staircase, a door burst open—Barry and his team stepped through.
They had reached the final layer of the dream world.
---
A scorching wave of hellfire hit them as soon as they entered.
Red light filled the sky. Flames surrounded the central ring, smoke curling above, while beyond the fire was the vast coliseum of seats—almost completely packed.
Except… seven seats sat empty.
Exactly the number of people pulled into the dream—Barry, Kristen, Nancy, Taryn, Joey, Will, and Kincaid.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Barry muttered. "Freddy, did you just rip off Hell's Resurrection Tournament? Did you even pay the copyright fees?"
The scene was too familiar.
The ring, the flames, the smell of brimstone—it felt like home. Too much like home.
"Kincaid!"
"Oh God, look—he's getting his ass kicked!"
"There's fire everywhere! How do we get across?!"
The others chattered anxiously, their panic impossible to hide.
Barry saw it too—and his fury burned ten times hotter than theirs.
Who gave you permission to do this, huh? You've completely pissed me off now, Freddy!
---
On the ring, Kincaid was struggling against a tall, charred man—his entire body blackened and cracked from burns.
Even through the scorched flesh, Barry instantly recognized it.
That was his own form—his "Flame Man" state from the resurrection match.
It was unmistakable. Freddy had turned into him.
Unacceptable.
Barry could cosplay others, sure—but no one was allowed to cosplay him.
Did you even pay the licensing fee, you ripoff?
Barry's image wasn't cheap. Freddy had just signed his death warrant.
---
"MAN!" Freddy roared, throwing a vicious elbow.
The strike was flawless—fast, brutal, professional.
Kincaid's face caved in, his features crushed inward. The impact alone was horrifying.
"Warm-up's over!" Freddy grinned, baring his teeth before slamming another upward elbow—this one right into Kincaid's chest. Bones cracked as Kincaid was sent flying off the stage, soaring toward Barry and the others.
Barry's expression darkened. He leapt forward, catching the broken man midair.
A gentle blue glow flowed from his palms, slowly mending Kincaid's shattered body.
"Well, well, look who decided to join the party!" Freddy called out gleefully. "My six VIP guests—and one very special old friend, Barry himself!"
"Forgive Uncle Freddy's lack of hospitality. I'm just too excited right now!"
He threw his arms wide, spinning theatrically.
"Welcome, everyone, to the grand finale—Freddy's secret arena: THE RING RUMBLE! Rules are simple: if you win, you leave. If you lose… you stay. Forever."
He tilted his head and grinned.
"How's it feel, Barry? A little nostalgic, huh? Especially this face—and this move set! Ahahahahaha!"
Freddy burst into exaggerated laughter, clutching his stomach like a clown performing for an invisible crowd.
---
"Freddy," Barry growled through gritted teeth, his expression dark as smoke. "You're playing with fire. Since you're so eager to relive the day you got elbowed into the ground in Hell, I'll be happy to remind you—personally."
Rage burned in his eyes.
"I'll grant you the defeat written in your destiny—and an eternal fall back into Hell itself!"
Riiip!
Barry tore off his shirt, revealing his chiseled torso. His muscles were like sculpted steel, his veins thrumming with power.
A surge of strength burst out of him, and his fury took physical form within the dream—shifting the air, bending reality.
Then, it appeared.
A monstrous phantom.
A sound like metal shrieking against metal pierced the arena.
A massive golden serpent uncoiled behind him—its torso thick as a barrel, white bone spikes running down its back.
Seven meters long, with eight elongated human arms for legs, each ending in clawed hands. Razor-sharp bone blades jutted from its arms, and its pale mask-like face split open to reveal rows of jagged teeth.
Its jaw stretched impossibly wide as it roared to the heavens.
"Gah! What the hell is that thing?!"
"Mommy! Help!"
"It's dangerous—get back!"
The others stumbled backward, terrified.
"Don't panic," Barry said, his tone calm despite the fury in his eyes. "That's just my rage made manifest—my White-Faced Gold Serpent. Pretty cool fantasy mod, huh?"
Freddy tilted his head, pretending to shiver.
"Not bad, Barry. You keep surprising me. Gotta admit, that phantom of yours is creepy as hell—almost up to Hell's standards. Almost."
He smirked, tauntingly dramatic.
"Surprise?" Barry snarled. "You'll find out what real surprise means in a second!"
He'd had enough of Freddy's antics. No more words.
Time to beat the nightmare out of him—and end this dream once and for all.
"Then let's see who's better at creating surprises," Freddy sneered, locking eyes with him.
The final battle was about to begin.