The restaurant’s rear wall wasn’t reinforced concrete, so there was no chance it could survive repeated impacts from a heavy construction vehicle forever.
Darius Kane understood that clearly, but he had no tools or materials capable of strengthening an entire wall.
If Art kept ramming it, the structure would eventually give way.
His only realistic option was to use the moment Art broke through to change positions.
Escaping immediately was possible, but the timing had to be perfect.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Outside, Art the Clown continued the same rhythm—reverse, accelerate, crash, repeat.
Each impact shook the restaurant harder than the last, and cracks began spreading across the rear wall in front of Darius.
Dust fell from above while metal utensils rattled against the counters.
With every collision, his heartbeat seemed to jump along with the entire building, yet he forced himself to remain calm and watch for the exact moment the wall failed.
In the middle of all that tension, a strange thought suddenly occurred to him.
Darius pulled out his phone, activated the camera, and positioned it securely with the rear lens aimed at the damaged wall.
If Horror Town truly intended to send him through ninety-nine different movie worlds, every trial would be something completely beyond ordinary human experience.
Horror movies, monsters, killers, ghosts—seeing them in reality was completely different from watching them through a screen.
If he survived, keeping recordings as souvenirs didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
BOOM!!
After several more collisions, the wall finally collapsed.
A jagged opening roughly three feet high appeared as bricks, wood, and debris crashed across the kitchen floor.
The front blade of the construction vehicle pushed partially inside before stopping.
Art climbed down outside, kicked aside several loose pieces, and crouched as he prepared to crawl through the opening.
Darius had been waiting for exactly that moment.
He grabbed his weapons, rushed to the metal kitchen door, unlocked it, and slipped into the dining area.
As soon as he crossed through, he shut the door and locked it from the outside.
By the time Art squeezed through the hole and entered the kitchen, Darius was already gone.
The clown straightened, looked toward the barricade, and froze when he realized his target had vanished.
Art’s expression immediately darkened.
He stormed toward the kitchen door and yanked on the handle, only to discover that it was locked again.
Darius, meanwhile, had already reached the front entrance and secured the restaurant doors with wire.
The arrangement forced Art to choose between breaking through the front or crawling back out through the damaged wall.
As long as Darius watched both routes carefully, he could move back into the kitchen the moment Art showed himself.
Unless Art suddenly learned how to split himself in half, there was no way he could cover both sides at once.
Metallic pounding soon echoed from inside the restaurant.
Darius stayed outside with his shotgun ready, watching the windows without approaching too closely.
After almost two minutes, the noise stopped.
A few seconds later, he caught sight of Art quietly appearing deeper inside the dining area, clearly trying to sneak toward the front.
Darius immediately loosened the wire, slipped inside, ran back into the kitchen, and locked the door behind him.
Art realized what had happened and hurried back toward the alley.
Darius used those few seconds to shove a heavy stainless-steel cabinet across the broken section of the wall.
It wouldn’t hold Art forever, but it would force him to waste more time getting through.
When the clown returned and discovered the new obstacle, his painted face twitched several times.
He remained silent as always, but his expression made it obvious that he was mentally screaming every curse he knew.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Art angrily slammed against the cabinet until it finally shifted enough for him to squeeze through.
By the time he entered the kitchen again, Darius had already slipped out through the door.
The same trick happened again after that, then once more.
Darius kept changing sides whenever Art committed to one route, turning the entire restaurant into a ridiculous game of pursuit.
After the fifth time, Art stopped in the middle of the dining area.
He didn’t move.
His eyes looked almost resentful.
For the first time that night, the silent killer seemed genuinely confused about who was supposed to be hunting whom.
Art had spent years tormenting victims who panicked the moment he appeared, yet this one kept locking him inside rooms, blocking passages, predicting his movements, and making him chase back and forth like an idiot.
The script was completely wrong.
Anger, frustration, and humiliation twisted together across Art’s face.
Even so, he showed no intention of giving up.
If anything, Darius’s resistance had made the chase personal.
Art had plenty of time left before sunrise and clearly intended to spend it finding a way to tear him apart.
Darius, meanwhile, was also beginning to feel tired after more than an hour of nonstop running, barricading, watching, and repositioning.
When Art finally forced his way back inside again, Darius decided not to repeat the same escape.
This time, he stayed.
The moment Art entered the kitchen, the two finally faced each other directly.
The clown stared at Darius with obvious murderous excitement.
After being played with for so long, he’d finally cornered the bastard responsible for all his frustration.
Darius could practically read the thought in his eyes—Art wanted to tear him apart slowly and enjoy every second of it.
Unfortunately for him, Darius had no intention of standing there politely and waiting.
BANG!
BANG!
Two shotgun blasts hit Art before he could close the distance.
Pellets tore into his torso, left arm, and face, knocking him backward and splattering blood across the floor.
Darius immediately fired again toward his legs, then stopped and kept the weapon trained on him.
He wasn’t going anywhere near the body just to check whether Art was really dead.
About ten seconds later, Art suddenly sat upright.
Darius narrowed his eyes.
So the earlier delay hadn’t meant much after all.
Whether Art had genuinely needed longer to recover or had deliberately stayed still to lure him closer, the result was the same.
He could apparently return much faster when he wanted to.
BANG!
Darius fired again.
Art jerked backward but immediately tried to rise.
BANG!
BANG!
Another pair of blasts knocked him down.
This time, Art didn’t remain still for long.
He sprang up almost immediately and charged forward in a rage, apparently planning to absorb whatever damage was necessary just to get close enough to attack.
Darius remained behind the stainless-steel barricade and calmly fired again.
Art was thrown backward before he could reach him.
The clown hit the floor.
Darius kept aiming.
Art had always been willing to use firearms when they suited him, even if he clearly preferred killing people up close with blades and other tools.
What made him dangerous wasn’t some refusal to use guns—it was the fact that he usually didn’t care if his victims had one.
Most people panicked under pressure, missed, wasted ammunition, or knocked him down and then foolishly approached to check whether he’d died.
Darius had no intention of making any of those mistakes.
If Art wanted to lie there, that was perfect.
Every minute spent motionless brought sunrise closer.
Dead, unconscious, regenerating, or pretending—it didn’t matter.
Darius simply kept the shotgun pointed at him.
The stalemate dragged on for nearly half an hour.
When Art finally realized Darius wasn’t going to approach, his fingers twitched.
Without warning, he surged upright and hurled the short-handled axe in his hand with all his strength.
The plan was obvious: even if the axe didn’t kill Darius, forcing him to dodge or lose focus for a second might create enough time to rush the barricade.
Unfortunately, Darius had already prepared for ranged attacks.
He ducked behind the stainless-steel cabinet.
CLANG!
The axe slammed into the metal and dropped harmlessly to the floor.
Darius immediately rose again.
Art was already charging.
BANG!
The first shot tore into his shoulder.
BANG!
The second hit across his upper body.
BANG!
A final close-range blast shattered part of his face and left shoulder, sending blood and fragments across the kitchen as Art collapsed once again.
Darius kept the shotgun aimed at him.
No matter how broken the clown looked, he wasn’t lowering his guard.
Not until sunrise.
(End of Chapter) [Reader Event Active]