Chapter 125: Chapter 123: American Horror Stories
Crack!
The night was alive with the electric tension of a brewing storm. Dark clouds roiled above, pregnant with fury, yet the earth below remained parched, thirsting for a rain that refused to fall. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, as if the very air held its breath, waiting for the inevitable to unfold.
By the restless shores of Crystal Lake, a faint mist began to rise, ghostly tendrils snaking across the water's surface. A lone car, its headlights cutting through the gloom, crept along the winding road, its engine a low growl in the oppressive silence.
The driver, a man with eyes as hard as the steel of the lantern he held, stepped out onto the gravel, his boots crunching softly. Behind him, another figure emerged, burdened with two shovels and a can of gasoline, the unmistakable silhouette of a hockey mask dangling ominously around his neck.
Crack!
The sky split open with a flash, a brief moment of illumination in the darkness, revealing the stark outlines of the old graveyard. The man with the lantern, Tommy, scanned the area, his gaze finally resting on a weathered gravestone, etched with a name that sent shivers down the spine of any who dared whisper it: Jason Voorhees.
The companion, his breath visible in the chill air, approached Tommy, his voice a mix of urgency and fear. "We're here, Tommy!"
Tommy's eyes never left the gravestone, his face a mask of resolve. "This is his grave," the man confirmed, as if to himself.
Silence hung between them, heavy and expectant.
"Let's go!" the companion pressed, eager to put distance between themselves and the cursed place.
Tommy's response was a terse, "Wait." He set the lantern down with deliberate care and took a shovel, his movements precise, betraying no hesitation.
"What?" The companion's voice cracked, a stark contrast to Tommy's icy calm.
"I need to make sure," Tommy stated, his voice devoid of emotion, as he advanced on the grave with the shovel in hand.
The two men set to work, the sound of metal biting into earth a harsh symphony against the backdrop of the howling wind. Time lost meaning as they dug, until at last, the dull thud of shovel against wood signaled their grim task's completion.
"Okay, you've confirmed it's his coffin. Let's go!" The companion's voice was tinged with desperation, his eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to dance just beyond the reach of the lantern's light.
Tommy, however, was unmovable, his hand outstretched. "Give me the crowbar," he demanded, his tone brooking no argument.
His friend's response was immediate, a plea laced with terror. "Don't open it!"
"Give me the crowbar!" Tommy's voice was a command, echoing with a chilling authority that left no room for disobedience.
The companion, his hands trembling, relented, passing the crowbar to Tommy with a sense of doom that seemed to settle over the graveyard like a shroud.
The crowbar felt cold and heavy in Tommy's hand, a grim instrument of finality. He knelt beside the coffin, his movements deliberate, the crowbar's tip wedging beneath the lid with a grating sound that seemed to echo through the stillness of the graveyard. With a heave of his shoulders, the lid gave way, and the ghastly contents were exposed to the stormy night.
The sight that greeted them was the stuff of nightmares, a tableau of decay and desecration. The corpse of Jason Voorhees, a grotesque mockery of life, lay entombed in its wooden prison. Cobwebs draped over the disfigured face like a veil, and the squirm of maggots in the flesh was a silent testament to the passage of time and the work of death.
Tommy's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, but it was the surge of memories, the flood of terror from his past, that truly sickened him. The monster before him had been the architect of his deepest fears, the author of his suffering. The hallucinations that plagued him, the shadows that turned every corner into a potential ambush, the years lost to the sterile corridors of a mental institution—all were Jason's doing.
Anger flared within Tommy, a burning, righteous fury that eclipsed his revulsion. He strode to the iron fence, muscles tensing as he wrenched a bar free with a sound of rending metal. He turned back to the coffin, his eyes alight with a vengeful fire.
With a primal scream, Tommy plunged the iron bar into the decayed body of Jason Voorhees, again and again, each thrust a cathartic release of years of pent-up rage. "This is for every life you've taken, every childhood you've ruined!" he bellowed into the tumultuous night.
"Tommy, what are you doing... oh, damn it!" His friend's voice was a distant echo, powerless to stop the tide of vengeance.
Finally, spent and breathing heavily, Tommy emerged from the grave, the iron bar dropping from his grasp with a dull thud. His friend, wide-eyed and shaking his head in disbelief, muttered, "My God, he must have made your life a living hell!"
With a grim nod, Tommy picked up the hockey mask, the symbol of Jason's reign of terror. He stared into its empty eye sockets, as if confronting the demon itself, before hurling it into the coffin with all his might. "Go to hell, Jason!" he spat with venomous finality.
Intent on erasing Jason's existence once and for all, Tommy turned to retrieve the can of gasoline, his friend trailing behind him, a silent sentinel in the madness.
Crack!
The heavens chose that moment to unleash their fury, a bolt of lightning striking the coffin with a blinding flash and a thunderous roar. The two men whirled around, their hearts pounding in their chests, only to witness a second bolt—an ethereal lance of pure energy—impale the body of Jason Voorhees.
A burst of electric sparks erupted from the coffin, a pyrotechnic display of unnatural resurrection. And then, in the eerie afterglow of the lightning, the impossible happened: the decayed corpse, the supposed remains of an unrelenting evil, opened its eyes.
***
[Ding! A new task has been assigned. Mission One: Eliminate the Crystal Lake horror, Jason Voorhees. Completion awards 500 penalty points, failure results in no new tasks for the current world (Progress: 0/1).]
Jon's heart pounded with the adrenaline of the mission as he emerged from the magical suitcase, the interior of which he had enchanted to be a sanctuary from the mundane. The sudden task notification had jolted him from his thoughts, a stark reminder of the system's ever-watchful presence.
"Damn it, that broken system scared the hell out of me!" Jon grumbled, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. He flipped open the panel, his eyes scanning the new mission with a mix of irritation and resolve.
"Jason Voorhees? I knew Crystal Lake sounded familiar, so it's Friday the 13th, huh?!" A smirk played on his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "With the hellfire, Jason will be exterminated once and for good!"
He knew all too well the futility of such statements. The Friday the 13th franchise had turned resurrection into a running joke, with Jason Voorhees defying death time and again. Even the Penance Stare, Jon mused, might not be enough to keep the horror of Crystal Lake at bay permanently.
"Forget it, don't think too much, just act!" With a shake of his head, Jon stepped out of the suitcase and into the world that now needed him.
The air was thick with the scent of rain and decay as Jon arrived near Crystal Lake. Initially, the place had seemed devoid of the sinister aura he had expected, but the mission's prompt suggested a change—a resurrection, perhaps.
Jon's sports car materialized with a thought, and with a flick of his Elder Wand, he cast a spell to reveal the sin aura. The world took on a new hue, guiding him unerringly toward the source of the malevolence.
***
The graveyard was a scene of chaos and despair as Jon arrived. The rain was relentless, pounding the earth with a fury that seemed to mirror the night's events.
"Hoss~~"
The shout drew Jon's attention, and he sprinted toward the sound, his boots splashing through the puddles that had formed among the graves.
Tommy stood there, his cotton jacket soaked through, his gaze locked on the horror unfolding before him. Hoss lay motionless, a grotesque wound in his chest where his heart should have been. And towering over him was the unmistakable figure of Jason Voorhees, his face a nightmarish visage of decay.
Clang!
As Jason raised the iron bar to deliver a fatal blow to Tommy, a metallic clang shattered the tension. Jon, now clad in leather, had intervened, his chain parrying the strike.
"Rest in hell, Jason." The words were barely out of Jon's mouth before he erupted into flames, his form shifting into the Ghost Rider. The transformation was a spectacle of infernal power, flames licking the rain from the air as if it were fuel.
Tommy could only watch in stunned silence as the Ghost Rider ensnared Jason with chains, the hellfire consuming the undead monster with an intensity that defied the downpour. Jason struggled, but the ethereal fire was unrelenting, and soon, all that remained of the Crystal Lake horror was a pile of wet ashes.
[Ding! Mission One completed: Eliminate the Crystal Lake horror, Jason Voorhees. 500 penalty points awarded.]
[Ding! Your legendary mission has been updated: Judge a thousand sinful souls across all worlds. Current progress: 74/1000.]
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