"..."
Lief watched calmly as the clown extracted the bullet from his own chest and dropped it.
He already knew this would happen. Against things that crawl from the abysses of other realities, firearms were obviously nothing more than toys.
In fact, he had to suppress a laugh that was rising in his throat.
Since he had crossed into this reality full of nightmares, his opponents had been brutal, but understandable. Jason Voorhees was pure physical strength, a tank of flesh and hatred. The cannibals of the forest were degenerate humans with rotten brains. All of them, however dangerous they were, still operated within certain biological or physical limits.
But this... this was different.
Art… that thing standing in front of him with a smile and a hole in his chest that did not bleed as it should, was the first entity, apart from Dorothy, that gave him the clear sensation that he was an aberration.
"Very well," he murmured with a smile forming on his face, "Let's see how much you can take."
He did not waste any more time on warning shots.
Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang
He moved his arms, crossing them in fluid motion. His two pistols became extensions of his will, tracing deadly arcs in the warehouse.
The barrels spat uninterrupted tongues of fire, illuminating the gloom with a lethal strobe.
In that instant, the advantage of infinite ammo unleashed a storm upon the clown.
The rain of bullets formed a wall that covered every vital inch of Art's anatomy. The bullets impacted with a wet and blunt sound against flesh and bone.
They pierced the skull, shattered the sternum, splintered the knees and blew off fingers.
Each bullet carried with it a devastating kinetic energy and Art could not advance. The constant impacts made him shake, trapped in a gale, forcing him to retreat step after step.
On the surface of his suit geysers of a black liquid burst, turning the fabric into a sieve.
"..." The women were mute witnesses to the madness.
Tara and Dawn were completely stunned, with their eyes bulging, unable to process what they were seeing.
A demonic clown who defied death and a boy who looked like a high school student who had appeared out of nowhere, armed with pistols, unleashing a choreographed violence worthy of an action movie.
It was a vision more deranged and unreal than any nightmare they had ever had.
Finally, Art's body could no longer withstand the physical pressure.
Under the relentless weight of the bullets, his structure collapsed, falling backward onto the cold floor.
He had received dozens, perhaps hundreds of bullets.
What remained of his head was an unrecognizable mass, a pulp of gray flesh and crushed bone that revealed underneath not a human brain, but a black substance.
The echo of the shots faded, leaving a ringing in the ears of everyone present. However, Lief did not lower the weapons.
"..."
The silence lasted exactly three seconds.
Then, the sound of flesh moving on its own, like worms writhing in the mud.
The "corpse" on the ground convulsed.
Lief watched as the destroyed mass that had been Art's head began to bubble. The flesh, the white paint, and the black matter began to regroup, flowing backward, reconstructing bone and skin in a process of accelerated regeneration.
The bullet holes in his torso closed, expelling the lead and sealing themselves with that black substance before the pale skin covered everything again.
And then, once again, Art rose from the waist without using his hands.
He was back on his feet, intact.
Tilting his head to the side he touched his cheek.
Seeming genuinely curious about his own indestructibility. He poked his newly regenerated face, checking the elasticity of the skin.
Then, he lowered his hand and fixed his gaze on Lief again.
The black painted smile stretched slowly, opening more and more, until it became a crack.
'Physical attacks are basically ineffective…' concluded Lief observing how the pale skin finished closing over the clown's chest, 'Or perhaps, his form of existence has already transcended the biological plane completely.'
While he processed this information, Art seemed to get bored.
For the entity, the shootout had been a fun distraction, but it had already lost its novelty. His attention turned abruptly back toward the two girls.
They were the true source of entertainment, their fear was the wine that he wanted to drink.
With absolute disrespect, Art turned his back on Lief.
Ignoring him as if he were just another piece of furniture in the warehouse, he leaned toward his black trash bag. He rummaged for a second and took out a new toy.
This time it was not a hacksaw. It was a surgical grade bone saw, although the blade was encrusted with dry reddish fragments of unknown origin.
Art held it against the light, admiring the edge, and resumed his walk toward Dawn, who was still hanging upside down.
He was going to finish his masterpiece, with or without an armed audience.
"Did I give you permission to move?"
!
Art stopped and turned his head out of instinct, but he didn't get to see anything.
Activating the Ox Talisman, Lief condensed a brutal kinetic energy bursting from his body, saturating every muscle fiber.
The cement floor under his boots cracked into a spiderweb of fractures when he propelled himself.
Swish
Like a projectile, he crossed the ten meters that separated them in the blink of an eye, materializing instantly behind Art.
There was no need for subtlety.
He threw a straight right hand to Art's back, aiming at the spine, right at the height of the heart.
Crack-Boom
Art's body, facing the colossal force, turned out to be as fragile as a sheet of wet paper.
Swish
The clown folded over himself and shot out horizontally like a baseball being connected by a major league batter.
He flew across the warehouse and crashed with violence against the container wall at the other end.
Bong
The thick corrugated steel wall caved in, creating a crater with the exact shape of a human body.
Art remained embedded in the metal for a second, before sliding slowly downward, leaving a trail of black slime until falling to the ground like a sack of broken bones.
"..."
Tara and Dawn had stopped breathing.
Their eyes went from the crater in the wall to the boy. That boy, who seemed to be their same age, had just demonstrated a physical violence that did not belong to a normal human being… and the pressure emanating from him was so overwhelming that, for a moment, it made them more afraid than the clown himself.
Lief shook his right hand, readjusting after the impact.
But he did not stop, giving that thing a second of respite was a mistake.
He charged again and before Art finished settling on the ground, he was already on top.
Bam Bam Bam
Straddling the fallen figure, he began to hit.
He did not use striking techniques.
He used violence in its purest and most primitive form. Each punch carried the amplified force of the Ox Talisman, falling like hydraulic hammers on the clown's anatomy.
He grabbed what was left of Art's head and slammed it against the concrete again, and again, and again.
The hard ground broke, creating a crater that became deeper with each impact, sending stone fragments flying like shrapnel.
Art's body was being systematically annihilated.
His arms were twisted like hemp ropes, his legs crushed until they were unrecognizable, and his rib cage collapsed inward like an empty soda can.
The black blood splashed everywhere, staining Lief's clothes, face and hands.
This was no longer a fight.
It was a demolition.
However, as the beating continued, Lief's expression became more and more somber.
Something was wrong…
He could feel it through his knuckles and it did not matter how much he destroyed this "body", the tactile feedback was incorrect.
He did not feel the dry snap of bones breaking, nor the tearing of muscles.
It was like hitting a truck tire or a mass of rubber.
The body absorbed the impact, deformed, but did not "break" in the real sense.
And the most terrifying thing of all...
Even when Art's face had become an unrecognizable pulp, Lief could swear that the structure of that cursed smile remained intact.
Even reduced to sludge, the thing was mocking him.
After a few more blows, Lief stopped panting slightly, but not from tiredness, but from frustration.
He stood up slowly without looking away from the clown.
In front of him, in the hole in the ground, there was nothing left that resembled a human being. There was only a pile of black sludge.
"..."
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs.
Thanks to his constitution, the physical exhaustion that would have left anyone on their knees dissipated in a matter of seconds, replaced by a renewed clarity of focus.
However, his mind did not rest. He lowered his gaze toward the crater, observing the puddle with a frown.
"It is not over yet" he murmured with a somber certainty.
As if answering his prediction, the mass on the ground began to stir.
Broken arms that straightened with crunches, destroyed tissues that wove themselves together again, and that black substance that flowed in reverse to reconstruct the form.
Leif was not going to waste this time watching paint dry.
He turned abruptly toward the two girls and with a simple thought, channeled his will.
Crack Clang
The layers of tape that tied Tara to the chair tore like paper, and the iron chains that kept Dawn suspended from the ceiling broke.
Dawn plummeted to the ground and it would have been an ugly fall, perhaps enough to break her neck in her state, but… Leif extended a hand.
An invisible force wrapped the naked and battered body of the girl, slowing her descent and placing her on the ground with gentleness.
However, physical freedom did not cure mental trauma.
The two girls remained paralyzed. Tara remained seated in the freed chair, trembling violently, unable to process that she was no longer tied. Dawn curled up on the dirty floor, covering her nakedness with crossed arms, sobbing in silence.
"Listen to me closely" Leif's voice cut through their panic. He did not scream, but his tone devoid of any unnecessary emotion, had the effect of a bucket of ice water, "If you want to live, you have to get out of here. Now."
He took a step toward them, signaling the door with his head.
"Run as fast as you can to the main road and do not look back. Under no circumstances!"
The direct order activated the basic survival instinct that terror had suppressed. Tara and Dawn seemed to wake up and got up clumsily, helping each other, and started running toward the exit, tripping over their own feet.
Leif did not bother watching them leave. They would be safe as long as he kept the clown's attention.
His attention returned immediately to the mass behind him.
But it was already too late.
In the few seconds it had taken to free the girls, the regeneration was complete. Art was standing in front of him, completely intact, as if the brutal beating from a moment ago had never happened.
His suit was clean, his makeup perfect.
But Art did not attack him while Lief helped them escape.
He simply stayed there, observing him with a renewed intensity.
His smile was still there, but Leif, with his sharpened perception, noticed a subtle change in the expression of those empty eyes.
It was... approval.
It was the look of an artist who recognizes a worthy critic, or perhaps… that of a predator who has finally found a prey that does not break at the first bite.
It was as if he were congratulating him for being the first person in a long time capable of destroying his "toy body" with such effectiveness.
Then, Art brought a hand to his chest and performed a deep bow before Lief.
Upon straightening up, he put his hand in his trash bag, which had magically appeared at his side and took out a deflated balloon.
With an exasperating calm, he brought the plastic to his lips and began to blow.
In the middle of a warehouse that smelled of death, Art molded the balloon with expert movements until giving it the shape of a ridiculous trident.
He held his "weapon" up high, gave a few little hops in place and stuck his tongue out at Lief.
"..."
It is absurd…
Lief narrowed his eyes.
'What is this?' he thought, 'A mental attack?... Or is he simply mocking me?'
His gaze was losing any trace of curiosity.
He no longer had patience to keep playing cat and mouse.
"If physical attacks cannot destroy you completely…."
He slowly raised his right hand, with his open palm aiming directly at the clown who kept dancing with his balloon.
"... then we will have to try something different."
The air around his hand began to vibrate, while a pure bluish-white light, began to condense in the center of his palm, crackling with an immaculate power that illuminated the shadows of the warehouse.
Purification.
________
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