In the silence of the night, as Michael Myers lay motionless on the ground, a voice echoed within his mind, deep and commanding, like the whisper of a dark entity from beyond. It was the same voice that had guided him through his decades of violence, the force that had driven him to kill and keep killing. It spoke to him now, cutting through the pain and the weakness, urging him on.

"*Get up*" the voice hissed. "*You didn't come back from hell for nothing. You can't lose here. What would be the point of coming back?*"

Michael's body twitched, his fingers slowly curling into fists. The world around him faded into nothingness, and all that existed in his mind was the voice. His wounds, the gashes and bruises from the fight, began to heal, the flesh knitting together in unnatural, rapid motion. His cracked bones mended, his burned skin regenerated, and his strength returned.

Outside in the real world, Laurie and Allyson stared down at his still form, their breath heavy from the intense struggle. Allyson, her heart still pounding, turned to her grandmother.

"Is it over?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Laurie, still gripping the crowbar, didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on Michael, her instincts telling her that this wasn't finished, that something was horribly wrong.

And then it happened.

Michael's body jerked unnaturally, his hand slamming into the ground as he pushed himself up. Slowly, methodically, he rose to his feet, his head tilting slightly to one side as if testing the limits of his renewed strength. His dark eyes gleamed from behind the mask, his wounds completely healed as if the battle had never even happened.

"*Impossible*" Laurie whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

Allyson gasped, taking a step back. "How? How is he still alive?"

Laurie's mind raced, but she already knew the answer. Michael Myers wasn't just a man. He hadn't been for a long time. He was something more—something that couldn't be killed in the usual ways. He was the embodiment of evil, and now, after returning from hell itself, he was more dangerous than ever.

Michael took a step forward, his gaze shifting from Laurie to Allyson. His knife gleamed in the dim light, now back in his hand, as if summoned by the will of the darkness that controlled him.

"Run," Laurie said in a low voice, barely able to contain the fear in her chest. "Allyson, run."

Allyson hesitated, looking between Michael and her grandmother. "But—"

"Go!" Laurie shouted, pushing Allyson away. "I'll hold him off. You need to survive!"

Tears welled up in Allyson's eyes, but she obeyed, turning and running toward the sheriff's car. She knew her grandmother wouldn't survive this fight, but Laurie had prepared her for the worst.

Michael, unfazed by Allyson's retreat, continued walking toward Laurie. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The voice inside him kept whispering, pushing him forward, guiding him to end this once and for all.

"*Finish her. End the bloodline*" the voice growled. "*You've come too far to fail now.*"

Laurie, her body tense and ready, gripped the crowbar tightly. She knew this would be her last stand. There was no more running, no more hiding. It was just her and Michael, the unstoppable force that had haunted her for so long.

"You're not going to win this time," Laurie said, her voice trembling with both fear and defiance. "I won't let you."

Michael didn't respond. He didn't need to. He raised his knife, his eyes dead and cold, and lunged at her with brutal speed.

Laurie dodged to the side, swinging the crowbar at his head, but Michael was faster this time. He caught her wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting it until she dropped the weapon. She gasped in pain as the crowbar clattered to the ground, her body jerking under his impossible strength.

He slammed her against the side of the house, pinning her in place, his knife raised high, ready to strike.

But Laurie wasn't done yet.

With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small knife she had concealed earlier. She drove it into Michael's side with all the force she could muster, the blade sinking deep into his flesh.

Michael staggered for a moment, his grip loosening just enough for Laurie to break free. She scrambled backward, breathing heavily, but Michael barely reacted. He pulled the knife from his side, blood dripping from the wound, but it was already healing, the dark force inside him erasing the damage as quickly as it had appeared.

Laurie's heart sank as she realized the truth—there was no way to stop him. Not anymore.

Michael advanced again, his knife gleaming as he prepared for the final blow.

But this time, Laurie wasn't running. She stood tall, meeting his gaze with fierce determination.

"If I'm going down," she whispered, "I'm taking you with me."

With a final cry, Laurie lunged forward, grabbing Michael by the mask. She yanked it off his face, revealing the scarred, emotionless visage beneath. For a brief moment, their eyes met—human and inhuman, predator and prey, locked in a final dance of death.

And then, with everything she had left, Laurie drove the knife into Michael's chest, aiming for his heart.

Michael staggered, his body shaking as the blade pierced his flesh. He stumbled back, the voice in his mind growing faint, fading as the darkness began to recede.

For the first time, Michael Myers hesitated.

But it wasn't over yet.