OPENING FMV

The screen fades in from black to an endless, calm expanse. A vast landscape of spiraling light as far as the eye can see. An inch-deep pool of water shimmers across the entire plane, reflecting the shimmering and bending rays of light.

Dr. Loomis stands at the edge of this mirrored surface, his gaze distant, focused on an unseen threat. The weathered doctor’s eyes betray a deep, unshakable worry—he’s seen this kind of darkness before.
Next to him, Nancy Thompson stands quietly, her arms crossed, eyes narrowing. Behind them, Andy Barclay cowers.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembles. The air grows thick, heavy, as if something ancient and terrible stirs beneath their feet. Loomis clenches his fist, scanning the horizon. Nancy shifts uneasily and does the same.

Tommy Jarvis, his shovel in hand, stands at the edge of the group. Beside him, Detective Sean McKinney looks around, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. Kirsty Cotton is just behind them, quiet but nursing a growing rage.

A deep, thunderous rumble shakes the realm.
A storm forms overhead, violent and fast.
Thunder cracks, lightning flashes—blinding, disorienting. The sound of the storm drowns out all as the ground continues to shake, almost as if the world itself is splitting apart.

Then—

With a deafening roar, the earth tears open. A massive wall of jagged stone erupts from the ground, stretching as far as the eye can see, cutting through the sky itself. Atop this wall, silhouetted against the storm, stand the Slashers—six titanic figures, a blight upon the land. They emerge from a geyser of boiling lava, their presence a physical manifestation of evil incarnate.

First, Chucky, a demonic gleam in his eyes, wielding a bloodstained knife, his grin wide and manic. Freddy Krueger, his glove glowing with deathly anticipation. Jason Voorhees, his machete raised high, the cold, empty void of his mask reflecting the storm. Michael Myers, eerily calm, his knife held low. The Maniac Cop, his billy club in hand, his expression one of unblinking determination. And finally, Pinhead, looming in shadow behind them, chains curling and shifting around him, glides effortlessly in the air.

The two groups face each other across the expanse, the tension palpable. Time slows, the storm almost suffocating, until—

—A massive beam of light erupts from the center of the storm, cutting through the clouds like a divine signal. It strikes the heroes, illuminating them in a piercing glow.

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PRAELIUM HORROR FANTASY — #001