That little head swelled up fast, ballooning in the blink of an eye to the size of a normal person's noggin—just all sallow and gaunt, like a walking skeleton.
Two long pigtail-like antennae twitched ever so slightly.
He could feel it—the air currents shifting, like the wind was whispering trouble!
Barrry's six limb-like arms, formed from his elongated ones, bent low. Next second, all that pent-up tension uncoiled like a spring-loaded trap, launching him half a meter to the right.
Boom!
A rock the size of a washbasin slammed down right where he'd been standing, cratering the soft snow into a deep pit.
Barrry whipped his gaze toward the sound.
Not far off, the silent, masked dude Jason emerged slow and steady—clearly, that earlier crash was just a tickle to him.
"Man, you finally win a revival match, and instead of chilling at home, you come out here begging for a smackdown?"
Barrry coiled his serpentine body, those bulging eyes locking dead on Jason's mask.
Jason was the quiet type, sure, but when it came to holding grudges? Top of the damn list.
No chit-chat from Jason—he spotted his target and just charged, swinging that machete to lop off heads like it was Tuesday.
He strode forward with that heavy, deliberate gait, looking like a walking buffet of weak spots.
The guy's brainpower might not light up a room, but his tanky-as-hell body more than made up for it—like your classic slasher villain straight out of a Friday the 13th marathon, the kind who just keeps coming no matter how many times you hack at him.
Jason usually played it sneaky, ambushing with whatever weapon he could grab, or straight-up stabbing if things got dicey. Against tougher marks, he'd switch to trading blows: you poke me, I poke you harder—last one standing wins. And spoiler? It was always him.
Barrry's six appendages tensed up tight, his arm-thick torso dropping low, hugging the ground, those forehead antennae quivering like crazy.
Three meters... two... one...
They were in knife-range now, white-hot close-quarters.
A rapid-fire pop-pop-pop echoed like fireworks, Barrry's spine rippling in waves—from the neck down, vertebrae slotting together seamless, building force layer by layer until it all detonated.
Crack!
A sharp sonic boom ripped the air.
Curled into a "U," Barrry whipped his body like a steel cable packed with TNT, lashing out a tail strike that could level a fence post.
Jason's machete was only halfway up when his knee caught the express train to hell.
Savage force exploded—bones shattering into splinters.
The human-faced bamboo stick insect's writhing form cracked Jason's legs clean across, sending him rocketing backward to thud against a thick tree trunk, momentum grinding to a halt in a shower of snow and rattling leaves.
Rustle-rustle—dead leaves and powder dusted down like confetti.
"How's that feel, Jason? We're just getting warmed up!"
"Got a few more whacks as a bonus—for trekking all the way out here to hand me your head on a platter!"
That grotesque human face split into a massive grin, jagged saw-teeth glinting like a nightmare shark.
Crack! Whip! Snap! Whip! Pop...
It was like Fourth of July fireworks in the woods—Barrry went full frenzy, lightning-quick, channeling every ounce of that plantation-grown grit into five terrifying lashes.
Each one sliced like a razor, venomous and mean, flaying flesh and snapping bones on contact.
Yup, his downtime brainchild: Lightning Five-Combo Whip!
First meet-and-greet smack was on the house—then five extra for the road. Generous, right?
Jason spun like a top from the barrage, that hulking frame turning into a shredded sack of rags after six hits.
Crunch!
Tree bark splintered, mixing with the wet snap of bones.
Thud—crash! The echo boomed through the trees as the trunk behind him gave up the ghost and toppled.
Jason's body pinballed out again, finally skidding to a stop at the base of another beefy oak.
After that output burst, even Barrry had to pump the brakes and catch his breath.
He straightened his tall, skinny frame—wincing a bit as he reached back awkwardly to poke at his spine, shoving things into place.
Hiss! Damn, overdid it—feels like a slipped disc back there.
He fiddled for a few seconds, finally popping it right.
Then, with a six-legged strut that said "family who?", Barrry sauntered over to where Jason lay sprawled eagle-style in the snow. Looming over the bloody mess, he let out a low whistle:
"Hot damn, this guy's built like a brick wall. Can't believe I didn't snap him in half."
Mid-sentence, Barrry's long arm shot out, bony fingers splaying wide to clamp onto that white hockey mask—like the one Jason rocks in those camp slasher flicks, all iconic and creepy.
Ignite!
Mind whirring, flames licked up from his fingertips, charring them into blackened claws, enchanted and razor-sharp.
Those fiery talons drilled in like hot augers, grinding through the mask with a teeth-grating screech, shredding skin and burrowing slow into Jason's skull.
Perfect timing—Barrry had gifted his own mask to Alyssa earlier, but now Jason's basically gift-wrapped one for him. Heartbreaking, but hey, couldn't say no to the gesture.
Come to papa, my new mask!
Gooey black blood oozed out.
It was like his whole brain was doing the cha-cha—Jason hadn't felt pain this raw in forever!
Too much! I'm gonna end you!!
Under the mask, those sealed-shut eyes snapped open, blazing with batshit murder vibes.
Jason's hand clamped Barrry's spindly arm—inhuman strength surging, yanking the appendage clean off with a wet rip.
"Shit!"
Regenerating that quick?
Barrry's mind raced; the severed limb twisted and warped into a bundle of straw-rope, one end stabbing into the snow, the other snaring Jason's waist.
Less than half a second—snap—the rope shredded, and Jason sat bolt upright like a horror puppet.
Barrry's mask-grab? Total bust.
Taking on Jason with his meat-suit on? Way tougher than snatching a soul from a ghost—Barrry's pulls barely fazed him!
Hell, landing any real, lasting damage on that body was a pipe dream.
The dude's healing? Straight-up comic book levels—like how those stick insects in the wild just regenerate limbs after a bird snack, but cranked to eleven.
No clue where it came from, but Jason whipped out a dagger and chucked it—slicing through one of Barrry's rear legs mid-stand.
Off-balance, Barrry toppled forward.
Mask cracked wide open now, exposing Jason's ugly mug, he said zilch—just grabbed Barrry's waist-arm, yank-rip, another limb down.
Worse, that black-gloved fist locked around Barrry's bar-like torso.
Gonna tear you to shreds!
Rage from the earlier hurt had Jason in beast mode.
Monstrous force pulled opposite ways—straw fibers popping one by one, stretching Barrry out like taffy.
Any second now, he'd be in two pieces again. But Barrry twisted instead, lunging closer on purpose.
His lower limbs latched onto Jason's arms and thighs; upper ones looped his neck. Like a python from hell, Barrry coiled up tight.
Jason's joints locked down, Barrry's neck stretching long to hook the nearest tree trunk.
Those pigtail antennae exploded in length, curling to jab into the mask's eyeholes—puncturing the squishy, rubbery orbs and thrashing wild inside.
White-hot agony froze Jason for a beat, his struggles dropping off a cliff.
Barrry pounced on the opening—torso cinching hard, yanking Jason brutal against the bark. In a flash, he rewound the coils, binding Jason and the tree together.
The long body squeezed inward, ramping the noose tighter, inching toward that fatal crush—like a bamboo stalk slowly strangling a weed.
"Move, you big lug! Keep squirming!"
Barrry glared down at his trussed-up foe, that withered yellow face twisting grotesque from the strain.
But deep down? Barrry knew—he'd clinched this round.
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