Ever felt that rush of life flying by at a hundred miles an hour?!
Ever been smashed through the air, crushed underfoot, over and over?!
You ever been turned into a boneless chicken tender?!
Nah, you haven't—you don't get it. You think you can still beat me?!
Jason's eyes burned with a steel-hard resolve like nothing before—he'd changed, toughened up through beatdowns and wipeouts, grown sharper, meaner.
H-how? No way this can happen—am I really gonna lose here?
Impossible. No friggin' way!
Barry read him like a book, but he wasn't buying his own defeat either. Not for a second.
"I'm gonna grind you to dust, Jason!"
Barry's massive frame started collapsing in on itself, fast—waves of brutal compression force ripping out from deep inside.
Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze!
Barry funneled his power, cranking his body down tight while twisting his innards like a python, aiming to choke out and absorb the swallowed-up Jason from the inside.
Would it work?
Those thick bone plates held firm against the crush—Barry poured everything in, but he couldn't pull off the old trick from before.
Too damn hard!
Splat!
White bone spikes erupted like thorns, instantly riddling Barry's straw body with holes, air hissing out everywhere.
It was like Jason had tailored this exact counter to Barry's strangle-and-suck moves. Through all the shattering and respawning, he'd supercharged his skeleton—hell, evolved it into this bone-manipulating nightmare.
Son of a bitch! Jason, instead of hitting the gym for some real gains, you pull this mutation crap? Layering on the armor like a tank?
Up against a guy who seeped through every crack, Barry felt that gut-punch of helplessness for the first time.
Rip!
Jason's bone-sheathed hand sliced through Barry's body like butter. With raw strength way beyond before, he latched onto the straw shell clinging to his back.
Jason whipped it off with a savage yank—the annoying wraparound torn free. Then, a brutal back body drop—Barry's whole form cratered into the ground.
The earth shuddered hard nearby, Barry's body damn near in pieces.
Straw bits mixed with dirt, kicking up a hazy dust cloud.
Jason didn't pause for a breath—stomped down, snapping Barry's lower spine like a twig. A pale hand clamped the nape of his neck, yanking back.
Crack!
Barry's neck and torso twisted into some freaky angle.
Jason wasn't done—grabbed the legs and wrenched them up hard, folding him into a tri-screen abomination by force.
...
Outside the woods, at Green Forest Camp.
A crowd was on pins and needles, waiting for Barry's big hero entrance—strolling out all cool to whisper, "Kids, it's safe now. Coast's clear."
Especially the little ones, wide-eyed and buzzing—they tuned out the counselors' nagging.
"Kids, you need to hunker down in your rooms. Let the grown-ups handle the outside stuff."
Paula tried steering them to safer spots, but fat chance.
"No way! I wanna see Fail-Man! He's gonna smoke the bad guy any second, then I get a pic with him." The kids weren't about to play nice.
They just wanted their Spider-Man fix—what's wrong with that?!
The massive ruckus from the forest started dying down. Fight had to be wrapping up.
Everyone remembered it clear: Spider-Man had the edge early, unleashing a storm of hits that left Jason flailing, no comeback in sight.
Who was boss? Obvious as day.
Here he comes.
Footsteps crunched closer—a figure stepped into the firelight. But what he was dragging? Nearly blacked folks out on the spot.
"Oh my God! Fail-Man's down—for real! The evil slasher wins. Our town's toast!" One pessimistic kid wailed like it was the end.
"Venom! Look closer—that's Venom, not Spider-Man. Spidey didn't lose; this is a fake-out."
A sharp-eyed smarty-pants kid clocked it: Spider-Man's mask didn't have fangs or a beak, and where's the spandex?
Gotta be Venom's doing! He caught Spider-Man 3 at the theater last week—no fooling this brainiac!
"Good call. So who's saving our asses now?" Blonde cutie Nancy dropped the real talk.
"Kids, I got folded like a bad phone—run while you can." Barry's revival mojo wasn't BS; these injuries wouldn't kill him outright. He could hang for a solid half-day, easy.
"Whoa! That's nightmare fuel—scatter!"
The kids erupted in screams.
Instant bedlam: shrieks, stomping feet, panicked sobs all crashing together.
Total chaos.
[Barry, you okay? You look rough as hell.]
Maria clocked Barry's beat-to-shit state for the first time—her heart sank, worry cranked to eleven.
He swore he'd win, but here he was, mangled like yesterday's trash.
[Bolt—now. This guy's cheating; I can't hold him.]
Jason's comeback slaughter had flipped the switch on everyone's buried memories of the Crystal Lake killer legends—and tonight, that deep-seated fear exploded wide open.
As the boogeyman at the heart of it all, Jason Voorhees was soaking it up like a sponge, biggest winner around. In this Crystal Lake bubble, he got the home-field boost—power surging, total turf boss.
Swap the scene to Silent Hill? Barry could tap that twisted force—unleash full throttle, manifesting nightmares from the town's corrupted power, a neutral storm twisted by guilt and cults into pure hell. But no dice here.
[Go—don't wait on me.]
Barry beamed the message through the pendant, urging Maria to grab her folks and haul ass the opposite way.
He'd buy them time, stall as long as he could.
[But you...]
Maria's thought cut short—a gut-wrenching screech sliced the air.
"Quack!"
Barry's hood and face got ripped off in one yank, exposing the tangled mess of stringy straw underneath—a full-on scarecrow dome.
Wahhh, talk about losing face—literally.
Jason's onslaught rolled on: bone claws plunged into Barry's back, fingers clenching. Out came a tiny, cracked white mask.
That was Barry's Good Face avatar progress—the life force he'd siphoned from Jason last time like a human battery, reforged into this busted mask to amp his respawn.
All that stolen juice? Puked right back up.
Jason slapped the mask to his chest. Same-source vibes—it melted into his body, seamless.
Yippee!
Hoisting Barry's strawman frame high, Jason went full ham with the grand finale: total tear-down!
Power exploded along the folds.
Right arm yanked—Barry's lower half sailed off.
Left arm hauled—head and neck tumbled forward after it.
The middle chunk? Jason chucked it to his feet and stomped it flat.
[Barry—!]
Tears streamed down Maria's face in agony, but no time to grieve—Jason's eyes locked on her next.
Wails ripped through the camp.
Sure, it was a straw dummy getting shredded, but that good Samaritan had thrown down for them—and Jason the maniac just butchered him, cold-blooded.
This was straight-up insane!
Just one casual glance back from Jason, and the kids froze solid—legs like jelly, bodies quaking like baby chicks in a storm.
Forget them—even the adults, Dan and Paula included, got chills crawling up their spines, scalps prickling like porcupines.