[ Location: The Barrens - Outside the Old Pumphouse ][ Date: October 15th, 1962 - 8:20 AM ]
I let the white fire in my palm die out.
The sudden darkness of the tunnel mouth seemed to push forward, hungry to swallow us.
"Preparation?" Hank asked, his voice shaking.
He looked from the dark pipe to my empty hands. "Vivan, we just fought two cops who acted like posses idot and now you want to go down there? Without a plan?"
"I have a plan, Hank," I said, stepping back from the grate. "The plan is: we don't die."
"Inspiring," Ronnie muttered.
She was hugging herself, her knuckles white where she gripped the heavy metal flashlight. "Truly."
I ignored the sarcasm.
She was terrified, and sarcasm was a pretty solid defense mechanism and I respected it.
I walked over to a pile of illegal trash dumped near the side of the concrete pumphouse. Broken bottles, old tires, and construction debris.
'No Inventory, No Void Blade, No potions,' I thought, kicking a rotten tire out of the way. 'If I walk into a cosmic entity's living room completely unarmed, I'm just wishing to die.'
I reached into the rubble and pulled out a solid, three-foot length of rusted iron rebar and it was thick, heavy, and covered in dried mud.
'It feels light as a feather, but it'll dent a skull.'
"What is that for?" Hank asked.
"Arts and crafts," I said.
I bit my thumb.
The skin broke, and a bead of dark blood welled up.
I dragged my bleeding thumb down the length of the rusted iron, pushing a steady, hot stream of Aether into the metal and the blood burned into the rust, leaving behind jagged, glowing white lines of Fuinjutsu script.
Hiss.
The rebar steamed, the rust flaking off to reveal dark, humming metal underneath.
It wasn't a legendary sword, but right now, it was the best I had.
I stopped and looked at the glowing pipe in my hand.
'It'll smash a ghoul just fine but Pennywise? I need something that hits on a his cosmic level and I know exactly what it is.'
I handed the pipe to my left hand and brought my fingers together in a cross shape.
"Shadow Clone."
POOF.
A cloud of white smoke exploded right next to me and as it cleared, a perfect, identical copy of me stood there on the mud, adjusting his jacket collar.
Hank let out a strangled yelp, dropping his glowing revolver straight into the dirt and ronnie screamed, stumbling backward and nearly dropping her flashlight.
"What the... how are there two of you?!" Hank panicked, his eyes bugging out of his head.
"Relax, Hank. It's just a magic photocopy," I said casually, turning to the clone. "Listen up."
"I know, I know," the Clone smirked, sounding exactly like me. "I have the memories. We need the big sword."
"Exactly," I pointed toward the center of town. "Go to the antique shop on Main Street and the dusty one run by that old lady, Rose."
The Clone nodded. "Got it."
"She has a weird, heavy silver rock " I instructed, keeping my voice low. "It's Star Metal and its from the Macroverse and we're going to need it to kill him later."
"You want me to borrow it?" the Clone asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, I want you to borrow (steal) it," I corrected. "Go, Fast."
"On it, Boss."
The Clone gave me a two-finger salute and blurred, sprinting back up the muddy hill toward town.
I turned back to Hank and Ronnie.
They were staring at the empty space where the clone had just been, their mouths hanging wide open.
"Close your mouths, you'll catch bugs," I said, spinning the enchanted iron pipe in my hand. It left a faint trail of white light in the gloomy morning air. "Now. Where were we?"
Hank swallowed hard, picking his muddy gun back up. "You... you just made a person."
"The Clown eats fear," I continued, ignoring his existential crisis and pointing the rebar at the dark tunnel. "He likes it when you're terrified because it marinates the meat and digests it but right now, we aren't going to be food."
"What are we, then?" Ronnie asked, her voice small.
"Heartburn," I smirked. "Cosmic indigestion."
I pointed to Hank's pocket. "You have five bullets left and they are laced with my magic. If you see something with silver eyes, you aim for the center of mass and pull the trigger and don't hesitate and don't think about whether it used to be the local ."
Hank hands were shaking, but his jaw was set. "Okay."
"Ronnie, give me the flashlight."
She handed it over.
I tapped the glass lens with my bloody thumb, leaving a small, glowing seal.
"The dark down there isn't just lack of light," I told her, handing it back. "It's like a magical smokescreen. If the shadows start moving, shine this right at them and the Aether will burn it away."
Ronnie clicked it on.
The beam wasn't yellow anymore; it was a piercing, brilliant white.
She looked visibly relieved.
"Stay behind me," I ordered, turning back to the tunnel. "If you hear voices, ignore them and if you see something from your past, it's a lie. Trust nothing but the light."
I ducked under the bent iron grate and stepped into the pipe.
It was awful.
The water was only ankle-deep, but it was thick and grey.
Splash. Splash.
Hank and Ronnie followed right behind me.
The white beam of Ronnie's flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating endless, curved concrete walls covered in slick black moss.
"It's freezing," Ronnie whispered, her breath turning to fog.
"Keep moving," I said.
We walked for what felt like miles and he pipe twisted and turned, sloping downward into the belly of Derry.
' Can't Do Remote Viewing,' I reminded myself, keeping my eyes peeled. 'If I cast my mind out too far, it will be dangerous, So I have to do this the old-fashioned way.'
Suddenly, the water around our ankles started to flow faster.
"The current's changing," Hank noted, holding his gun tight against his chest.
"We're reaching " I said.
The pipe opened up into a massive, circular cistern and four different tunnels spilled into a central pool of dark, churning water.
There was a narrow concrete walkway running along the edge.
Giggle.
The sound bounced off the curved walls.
It was impossible to tell which tunnel it came from.
"Matty?" a voice called out and it sounded exactly like Ronnie.
Ronnie gasped. "That was... me, my voice!"
"It hurts, Ronnie. Why did you let me run?"
"Shut up," I growled, stepping onto the concrete walkway. "It's a trick."
The water in the central pool began to bubble.
Thick, oily bubbles rose to the surface, popping with wet, slapping sounds.
"Vivan," Hank warned, raising his gun. "Something's in the water."
I gripped the iron rebar.
A shape broke the surface.
It was a body.
A young boy, maybe twelve years old and he was wearing a vintage 1950s baseball uniform, His skin was bloated, waterlogged, and totally grey.
He floated face up, perfectly still.
"Oh my god," Ronnie choked, covering her mouth. "Is he... dead?"
The boy's head slowly, mechanically snapped to the side and looked right at us.
His eyes were glowing, metallic silver.
The drowned boy smile and his jaw unhinged, dropping abnormally low, and a stream of filthy black water poured out of his mouth.
"Join the swim team," the boy gurgled.
He didn't climb out of the water.
The drowned corpse shot out of the pool like a torpedo, flying through the air with unnatural speed, its rotting hands outstretched toward Ronnie's throat.
'Not today.'
I planted my boots and swung
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