Welp, it doesn't matter how traumatizing the previous trial was the show must go on. Or the next trial, in this case.
As soon as the match started there was a horrid screech, different than the nurse or Demogorgon. That couldn't be a good sign.
Especially not when the sound or eerily chiming bells reached Jake's ears. Or when a bloody snarling man rounded the corner without warning, nearly on top of Jake, not sparing a moment to strike him down. @ask-the-dweets
Jake was ready to take a break from the trials, especially after the last two, but the trials were evidently not ready to take a break from him. The fog cleared and he was standing at the base of a hill in the wreckyard. Only a few seconds passed, enough for him to register where exactly he was and to take a step—he was, at least, blessed to have only two legs in this trial—before a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the sky and he flinched instinctively, hair standing on end.
The screech wasn’t one he’d heard before, and that only put him more on edge. The last two Killers had been new, too. Things came in threes, and it wasn’t hard to guess what this third might be.
He looked around, unable to see any movement from his vantage point, before seeking out a nearby generator, tucked within a corner in a structure of high walls of crushed machinery. Jake slid in next to the generator but he didn’t have time to start before he could hear the quiet, rhythmic jingling of bells. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. His mouth felt dry. Him too, huh? Most likely. The bells sounded distant, but like they came from no-where in particular—like the Huntress’ humming. They just filled the air, ever-present, and no heartbeat warned him. The only warning he got was the sound of a footstep and a much more violent rattling of bells. A vestigial muscle in his ear twitched and tense.
Jake was on his feet, starting to run, before he’d finished registering the sound. He spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own legs, clumsily catching his balance and cursing his lack of muscle memory. His goal was the window to relative safety on the far side of the structure and Jake didn’t dare look behind him. It didn’t matter either way. He only made it a few steps before the Killer slammed into him like a freight train and they both went down. Splintering pain blossomed in his side as he hit the ground on his shoulder and rolled, kicking his attacker in the face with the heel of his boot before he got to his feet, scrambling over the window and holding his side, already beginning to bleed into his clothing.
Jake looked back, his own heart racing, at his opponent. It was Elf, no doubt. Even in the silvery haze of the moonlight and the blur of movement, he could tell it was Elf. The same pointed ears, if drooped. His clothes were the same. But he—he was not. He, like the others, had been… changed. Warped, badly. Painfully. “El—” Jake started, then caught himself. He could try to talk while he ran, even though it probably wouldn’t do any good. It hadn’t with Pizza, for sure. But Pizza was—he was different. Elf, for all his bullshit, pulled through just about anything. “Dwight—what the hell happened to you? You—are you even still—?”
