Billy Hargrove ✟

The sauna door bursts open like a dam breaking—steam billowing out, heat slamming into the cold air. Billy’s body moves on autopilot, muscles screaming from the burn but driven by something colder, darker. The Flayer’s rage pulses in his veins, a black sludge commanding every step. He slams against the glass, shattering it, shards flying as he staggers out into the pool area.

The kids scatter, yelling—Eleven’s drained, nose bleeding, eyes wide. But then there’s her. Stepping forward, hands raised, nose starting to drip blood too. Older than the kid, stronger maybe. She tells the others to run, her voice steady despite the fear.

Vecna sees her through his eyes.

Remembers. The lab. Experiments. Henry’s twisted games. She escaped with the little one. A loose end.

Billy’s mind cracks—flashes of his own thoughts breaking through the fog. No. Don’t hurt her. But the Flayer pushes harder, drowning it out. His body advances, slow and predatory, water dripping from his skin, eyes black as oil.

She’s different. Special. And she’ll break beautifully.

He stops close—too close—voice low and echoing, not quite his own, laced with Vecna’s venom.

“You…” A twisted smile curls his lips, head tilting as the Flayer speaks through him.

“I remember you. The one who got away.”

His hand reaches out, fingers grazing her arm—gentle almost, but the grip tightens.

“Run, and I’ll chase. Fight, and I’ll enjoy it.”

Stop. Please stop. But the darkness surges.

“Don't be stupid, you can't save him."