As the master of Silent Hill's dual realms, Alessa holds immense control over this place.
The endless falling ash that fills this world can be seen as a part of her—her eyes, granting her extraordinary perception. The ash is also a piece of her power, serving as a medium through which she can channel her strength.
Especially when Silent Hill shifts into the Otherworld, when her abilities are fully unleashed, her dark powers reach their peak.
Even now, when the need arises, she can keep her gaze fixed on a target without them ever suspecting a thing.
In a brief moment of observation, Dark Alessa noticed something peculiar about Barry.
On the surface, he seems perfectly normal, but Alessa can see through the facade of his handsome exterior to the pitch-black soul hidden beneath!
A soul with a dark foundation, yet pure and untainted.
It's not stained with ferocity, cruelty, or bloodlust—instead, it carries traces of kindness, justice, and courage. Not much, but they're there.
This is strange.
It's like a born killer turning into a stand-up guy.
What kind of environment, education, or experiences could shape such a unique soul?
Dark Alessa is dying to find out.
For a true demon like Dark Alessa—at least in her current form—such a contradictory soul is a rare delicacy.
For a soul of this caliber, she'd need to perform an elaborate, elegant ritual before tasting it, give thanks for the gift of the departed, and then pat herself on the back for her cunning before she could savor it with peace of mind.
But harvesting a soul completely isn't so simple.
Otherwise, she wouldn't have had to strike a deal with Alessa, lending her power to help her out.
She's done so much, invested so much time, all for the chance to reap a big harvest.
Not every soul destined for hell can be claimed.
This world is divided into heaven and hell, and the vast majority of souls are under the jurisdiction of the big shots—God and Satan.
Other demons and evil spirits who want a taste of a soul have to sneak around, quietly snacking on stray lambs in the human world to avoid getting caught.
"Such a special person… I look forward to the day you fall."
A sinister smile curls on Dark Alessa's lips before she turns and vanishes. She has other things to attend to.
It's all part of her thirty-year plan for a massive harvest.
…
Barry walks through the deserted streets of the town, and soon his clothes are coated in ash.
On either side of the street, various shops and residential buildings still stand intact.
The fire that ravaged this place mostly set the underground coal mines ablaze, causing ash to blanket the sky and the air quality to take a serious hit.
Not knowing the way, Barry sticks to the main road, hoping to run into someone soon—or at least spot people in time to join the group heading to safety before the world shifts into the Otherworld.
"Hold it right there!"
Halfway down the street, just as Barry is about to cross an intersection, someone shouts at him.
Four figures in hazmat suits and masks approach from all directions, surrounding him.
Each one holds a 16-inch pipe, their eyes behind the goggles glinting with menace, though a hint of wariness lingers deep within.
This stranger with black hair and dark eyes—is it a coincidence?
They don't know. They're just following orders.
"Hey, bro, I wandered in here by mistake. I need help," Barry says in a standard American accent, raising his hands high to show he means no harm and to avoid any potential conflict.
He's no special forces badass who can take on multiple guys barehanded.
Unless he's some kind of American-style quick-draw sword master, which, sadly, he's not.
Feeling the predatory stares around him, Barry regrets for the first time that he hasn't fully embraced the American way—going out without a gun. Man, his past self was clueless.
Seeing how cooperative he is, the four armed cultists don't immediately resort to violence. One of them, who seems to be the leader, jerks his head and says, "Tie him up."
The other three spring into action. Two grab Barry's arms, while the third quickly binds his hands with rope.
The situation's out of his control, and Barry's plan is to blend in with them and lay low for now.
Once he gets a handle on life here, he can decide whether to hunker down in the church or take a risk—maybe even play guide for Alessa and take out these deranged cultists. Both options are on the table.
Woo-woo-woo—
A low, resonant air-raid siren suddenly blares, its piercing sound echoing across the town.
The Otherworld is coming!
Black crows perched on branches take flight in a panic, and survivors hiding in houses burst out, appearing from all corners of the streets.
They're all running frantically in the same direction—toward the church.
"Bring him. Let's go."
Without wasting words, the group surrounds Barry, dragging him by his bound hands, pushing and pulling him into the crowd.
After running about a hundred yards, they reach a cemetery filled with tombstones. Beyond it lies the town's church—their sanctuary, where they've been surviving all this time.
The church's massive doors slowly creak open. Above the towering structure is a strange religious symbol: four crosses surrounding a hollow hexagon at the center.
Crows from the town circle overhead, adding an eerie sense of foreboding to the scene.
Barry smoothly blends into the crowd entering the church. The moment the doors close, he feels a sudden urge to look back.
His gaze cuts through the cultists behind him. The outside world is shrouded in darkness, but by the flickering candlelight inside, he vaguely sees ash rising from the ground, like skin peeling away to reveal bloodstains beneath.
In a fleeting moment, he thinks he sees a little girl in a blue dress staring coldly at him.
Alessa?
Barry's pupils shrink, his body trembling slightly, as if startled.
He blinks, and the figure is gone, like it was just an illusion.
Boom!
A heavy thud, and the doors slam shut.
A sense of safety washes over him.
To Alessa, he doesn't think he's anyone special, nor does he have the confidence to face the monsters of the Otherworld alone.
This choice—sticking with the group—feels like the safest bet he can make.
Snapping back to reality, Barry finds himself escorted to a corner of the church's main hall, still guarded by the four cultists.
"What was that siren about?"
"Can someone kindly explain?"
"Bro, what kind of cult is this? How long have you guys been holed up here?"
"What do you usually eat?"
Barry tries to pry some survival tips out of the cultists, but they just give him cold stares, ignoring him completely, like they couldn't care less.
Until the head bishop gives a clear stance, they're not keen on dealing with this guy who shares the same hair and eye color as the demon.