Ten minutes later.
As Orsaga continued his elaborate critique, still completely engrossed in his lecture, Freddy glanced at his wristwatch and let out a conflicted sigh. His burned face showed a rare trace of hesitation.
"Uh… would you mind stopping for a bit? I'd like to get back to killing now."
Hearing that, Orsaga—having only reached the halfway point of his analysis—frowned in annoyance.
"Stop? Why?"
Dreamland Chaplin—Freddy—grumbled under his breath.
"I've got people to kill. I'm on a tight schedule."
Orsaga's expression changed instantly.
"Killing people?"
If Freddy had given any other reason, Orsaga might've gotten angry.
But that reason?
As a bona fide abyssal demon, Orsaga wholeheartedly approved.
He smiled, nodding in full agreement.
"Now that's more like it! Murder and arson have always been excellent for stress relief—no reason to delay."
"???"
The police chief looked between them, utterly confused, like he'd stumbled into a conversation between aliens.
They were speaking English—but he couldn't understand a single word.
"Alright, then!"
With Orsaga's approval, Freddy perked up immediately. His eyes lit up with murderous glee.
He glanced between Orsaga and the police chief for a moment, then cracked a wicked grin.
His neck suddenly stretched, turning into a mass of twisting muscle and flesh like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box. His head shot forward several meters in an instant, and with his sharp, fanged mouth, he bit down on the police chief's ear.
With a savage tug—
RIP.
A scream echoed through the dreamscape as blood splattered everywhere.
Freddy spat the bloodied ear to the ground with a chuckle.
He could practically taste the terror radiating from the police chief—and he loved it.
His gloved hands, each tipped with metal claws, rubbed together gleefully.
"It's been years since I last did this. That delicious scent of fear—how I've missed it."
Ever since being sealed and weakened by the combined efforts of the International Exorcist Association and the residents of Elm Street, Freddy had gone without his favorite flavor of fear.
His return had only been made possible by feeding off the terror surrounding Jason.
Now, finally back, he wasn't picky anymore.
He used to prefer targeting young people—but in his current starving state, even a greasy middle-aged man like the chief looked good.
Ah, hunger really did change your standards.
That's when Freddy noticed something that annoyed him.
Orsaga was still watching, his face calm and unaffected, as if Freddy had just spat out chewing gum instead of a bloody ear.
He looked bored. Unimpressed.
Freddy frowned.
He'd been looking forward to this comeback moment for years—wanted a grand, fear-inducing entrance.
And yet… this guy? Totally unfazed.
He needed to fix that.
Freddy stretched his neck again and began circling around Orsaga like a giant snake, hissing out a warning with irritation:
"Hey, kid—you can give your little lectures or whatever, but you're supposed to be afraid of Uncle Freddy! You do know the rules of Elm Street, right?"
Orsaga looked at Freddy, now twisting and contorting his body like some grotesque beast, and shook his head calmly.
"Afraid? Can't say I've ever been."
The police chief, still clutching his bleeding ear and writhing in pain, began quietly backing away.
As a normal human, he knew if he got caught between these two monsters, he'd end up as collateral damage—dead in the ugliest way imaginable.
But Freddy was already watching.
This was his realm.
Here, nothing escaped him—not even a rat trying to sneak away.
The chief's movement was laughably obvious, like watching an ant try to crawl off his palm.
Meaningless.
Freddy let out a sharp, ghoulish laugh, and the world around them began to twist.
Up became down. Left became right. Forward turned into backward.
The police chief, in his panicked attempt to flee, suddenly found himself closer to Freddy than before.
He tried to sprint away—
But instead, he ran right into Freddy's waiting arms.
Like a mouse falling into a trap, he had sealed his own fate.
Had he taken even a second to calm down, he might've realized something was wrong.
But under the weight of fear, his mind had shut down.
He was running on instinct.
And instinct would only carry him to his doom.
With another gleeful cackle, Freddy triggered a trap.
From the floor, a long, razor-sharp spike shot upward.
In the twisted physics of this dream world, the chief—trying to step back—ran straight into the spike head-on.
The blade pierced into him with a wet crunch.
The pain sent him into a frantic struggle—but no matter how hard he tried to retreat, his sense of direction had been scrambled.
Instead of escaping, he slowly impaled himself further—inch by inch.
Freddy laughed harder, delighted by the carnage, and turned to Orsaga.
"What an absolute idiot. Don't you agree?"
Orsaga studied the chief for a moment, still dangling grotesquely from the spike, and gave an approving nod.
"Definitely. If he'd kept a level head, he wouldn't have died like that."
Not the slightest sign of remorse. To him, the man had just been a casual acquaintance.
Dead was dead. No need to get emotional.
Freddy stared at him, looking straight into those unflinching eyes.
No fear. No panic. Not even discomfort.
That should have made Freddy angry—
Yet somehow… it made him feel strangely acknowledged.
As if, on some level, Orsaga had just validated his worldview.
"Hahaha!!"
With another manic laugh, Freddy's eyes lit up.
He had an idea.
"Alright, then—since you're so calm, why don't I let you choose your own death? What kind of end do you think is smart?"
His eyes gleamed with malicious intent.
He was eager to see if Orsaga would finally flinch.
Of course, deep down, Freddy remained wary. He suspected this so-called exorcist had tricks up his sleeve.
But his patience was wearing thin. He had other victims waiting for him back on Elm Street.
He didn't want to waste too much time here.
But Orsaga remained unfazed by Freddy's seething hostility.
Hands still tucked in his pockets, he replied flatly:
"Death? Any method's fine. If you're capable of pulling it off."
To him, it was just small talk—like someone asking what he wanted for dinner.
Freddy's grin twisted.
"In that case… let's go with something extra painful—how about I cut you into chunks and grind you into meat paste?"
With a wild, howling laugh, Freddy pulled his neck back into place and lunged forward.
He slashed wildly with his bladed glove, aiming to turn Orsaga into a pile of shredded flesh—
then take his time savoring the rest.
He hated the man's calm demeanor.
That arrogance. That stillness. That confidence.
It disgusted him.
'If I'd looked like that back when I was alive,' Freddy thought bitterly, 'I never would've ended up a freak.'
He slashed harder. Faster. More viciously.
But Orsaga didn't move.
Hands still in his pockets, he simply stood there. Silent. Unmoving.
Letting the blades come.
.....
After several seconds, Freddy stopped.
He stared in disbelief.
Orsaga was completely unharmed.
Not a scratch.
Not a single tear in his clothes.
And still—calmly watching him.
Freddy's eyes flicked to the police chief, still skewered and wide-eyed in death.
He exhaled slowly, face tightening.
This wasn't going as planned.
After a long pause, Freddy forced a polite smile and said:
"Actually.. I was just kidding. You didn't really take that seriously, did you?"
_____
T/N:
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