Mariah decided that if she was going down, she'd go out swinging—not as a coward, but as a hero stepping up to the plate.
She charged in.
Carrying the hopes of the entire camp, Mariah let out a battle cry and drove her pitchfork hard into Jason's body.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The weapon hit his bone-covered frame, ringing out like metal on metal.
Mariah went for broke, stabbing three times in a row.
Jason stood like a mountain, looking down at her with eyes that said, You done playing, kid?
Had enough?
Jason's massive, powerful body sprang into action. He swung his silver machete in a clean, downward chop, snapping the pitchfork in two.
Then, with a sideways slash, the sheer force knocked the wooden handle right out of Mariah's hands.
The gap was just too wide.
She was just a regular person—and not even a tough one, more like the weakest of the bunch.
Jason raised his machete, aiming a brutal chop right at Mariah's head.
…
Holy crap! That's terrifying!
What did he just see?
Mariah was warming up, yanking out her pitchfork, and—wait for it—going full flashback mode.
Barry didn't get it, but he was shook.
"Uncle Venom, are we about to die?" Smart Kid asked, resigned.
"Kid, what's your dream?" Barry didn't answer, tossing out a question of his own instead.
"…My parents want me to be a musician, like them. But honestly? I wanna be a comic book artist," Smart Kid said after a pause, spilling his deepest wish.
"What's your name?"
"Tom."
"Alright, Tom. Listen up—study hard, hit the gym, eat less junk food, read the news. Cut back on gaming, get more sleep. One day, your dream's gonna come true."
"There's no 'one day' left," Tom said, his face drooping.
"There will be."
Barry placed his hand on the Book of Strange Tales, and his body started morphing. Random objects stuck in him clattered to the ground as straw sprouted rapidly, weaving into a massive cocoon.
He burned through his dark energy at a steep cost—bad environment, heavy toll—but Barry still chose to transform.
He'd hoped to stall long enough for Tommy Jarvis, the guy destined to seal Jason away in the original story, to show up and settle their fated showdown.
Worst case, he'd hold out until the cops arrived to at least keep Jason in check.
But things don't always go as planned.
Guess it's go time!
For his lifelong friend and these innocent kids, Barry couldn't just stand by and watch them get slaughtered.
He'd debuted as a superhero—there was no way he'd go out like some spineless loser.
Before leaving Silent Hill, he'd told Alessa:
He was going to help more kids, spread this love, and make the world a better place.
Now was his moment to walk the talk.
Even if it meant wrecking his body and sending his consciousness back to Silent Hill, Barry was all in.
No way he'd let anyone look down on him!
Worst-case scenario? He'd just have to claw his way back in a rematch!
"Uncle Venom, you…" Tom gaped, stunned, calling out.
"Kid, Uncle's gotta go."
Bursting from the cocoon was an executioner in a triangular helmet, dragging a heavy, broad machete. His chiseled, bare torso was crisscrossed with scars.
Mariah was in full send-it mode, about to get her head handed to her!
Clang!
Right as Jason's blade came down, a massive iron blade blocked its path.
It was a towering weapon, so heavy that just lifting it let the edge drop with devastating force.
[Get it together, Mariah!]
Barry parried the strike meant for her, no hesitation, then swung his blade diagonally, aiming for Jason's legs.
Break those legs first!
In that split-second stare-down, Jason sensed Barry's new form was a violence machine, just like him.
Ruthless! Brutal! Relentless!
A new kind of powerhouse? Interesting.
Jason stepped back half a pace, pulling an iron shovel from behind him to block the incoming blade.
Clang!
But how could his rushed defense hold up against that massive, swinging machete?
The savage impact hit hard, bending Jason's leg into a freaky angle, his shinbone snapping clean.
Jason wobbled, dropping to one knee.
"Oh, hell yeah!" A glimmer of victory.
Hope sparked in the crowd behind.
Could they win?
Barry pressed the advantage, his machete crashing down again with a crack of breaking bones. Jason's other leg gave out—he wasn't getting up now.
One last swing to end you.
Barry ran his hand along the blade, and in an instant, a red glow flickered.
A faint hiss sounded.
The machete's edge burst into blazing flames, like red-hot iron.
Slash!
Barry unleashed a New Year's-style chop, the fiery blade slicing down toward Jason's neck.
It's off! It's off!
Carrying everyone's hopes, the machete came down.
Crack, crack, crack!
A rapid series of bone-shattering sounds rang out.
But the blade got stuck.
Jason tilted his head back, taking the hit. His freakishly tough skull, layered with bone like a helmet, held firm against the brutal strike.
Damn it, Jason—of all times to block like a pro!
One more swing!
The kids were on edge, waiting.
But it was over.
Sorry, kids—Uncle Barry's out of juice.
Barry groaned inwardly: This sucks!
His dark energy drained fast, his body degrading. The iron blade crumbled back into him, and his straw form started tearing, loose threads spilling everywhere.
Gah! A harpoon suddenly stabbed through, its tip piercing Barry's chest.
[Barry—!]
Jason twisted his torso, leaned back, and tensed his arms. Slowly standing, he yanked the harpoon upward with a fierce swing, then flung it backward.
And just like that, Barry went airborne.
Tree shadows swayed as Barry's butt got snagged on a branch.
The terrifying killer stood tall, the cracks in his skull healing fast, though the bone helmet stayed for now.
It was a rollercoaster—hope came, went, came back, then vanished.
Pure torture.
We're done. Just end it.
The kids gave up. After witnessing that epic fight, they figured dying now was at least worth the price of admission.
Beep boop! Beep boop!
Police sirens blared out of nowhere.
The American cops, fashionably late as always, finally showed up.
"Kids, you all okay? We're here now," Sheriff Garys said, leading the charge.
"Oh, you're here," the kids replied flatly, like they'd already given up hope.
"We're toast, and they're next," Tom whispered to the gloomy kid beside him.
"Yup, dead meat," the pessimist agreed.
"Please, save us! People are hurt, and some of our friends were killed. That's the guy!" Paula, the only counselor still conscious, sobbed as she begged for help.
The sheriff declared that no evil would escape justice.