I fucking love seeing my Heavy Assault Rifle tearing holes in Imps. Bastards are cannon fodder, sure, but who wouldn't enjoy seeing 50. BMG rounds turning those brownskins into Swiss cheese? They are demons. Do I need an excuse to see them suffer?

The unrelenting barrage of white hot lead tore limbs, broke bones and turned meat into paste. Five Imps went down without breaking a sweat. Five more kissed the ground with a series of short bursts. Each bullet hit either the head or the chest with surgical precision.

"Why are you here?"

A voice hissed into my mind just as I turned to see a Hell Knight running full speed towards me. HAR is too soft for a Knight, so I swapped it with my Super Shotgun; the ultimate demon-slaying weapon, made from God himself to purge the wicked asses.

Both barrels boomed as two shells full of pellets were unleashed upon the demon. It wasn't close, so the pellets scattered, punching many tiny holes in its chest. A fist tried to smack me in the head. I reloaded the Super Shotgun and fired again. The Hell Knight's hip exploded into chunky salsa that flew everywhere, even on my armor.

"No! I washed it just a fucking world ago!"

I thought it was time to put some fear of God into this bastard, so I took out the Great Communicator. What is that? Why, my Chainsaw of course!

The guide bar went down just as the freak turned around. It fell on the Knight's forehead, splitting the head. Unsatisfied, I pushed it further, until whole body was halved, like gutting a pig or something. I knew I should've been a butcher.

"Demonic presence eliminated."

My helmet displayed a warning, telling me that the Hell Knight was the last pain in the ass I had to kill to clean up the mess that was the outpost I landed into. Yet another reality was safe thanks to the "Doom Slayer". It was… what, number one thousand and one? Lost count millenia ago, just like I lost my body count.

Not that it mattered, honestly. It's always the same shit. Demons show up to fuck shit up, I come from whatever bumfuck place I previously landed, kill them all, rinse and repeat. In my earlier days, when I was still a greenhorn, there was excitement and wonder and shit. Now? Now it's all a blur. Don't care where I am. Don't even care who is the newest victim in line. My latest "adventure" was this UAC outpost, or at least I think it is. I swear I saw the logo somewhere.

Ah, the UAC. Union Aerospace Corporation. It always brings back memories of my deployment on Mars just because of that stupid officer I punched one too many times. My troubles began on Phobos, one of the two moons. It's all clear as day. Right there, I encountered my first Imps. Fuck me, I thought. Aliens? On Mars? Since when? Why nobody told me we fought aliens all of a sudden? What was I supposed to do with the stupid confetti shooter that was the pistol they gave me?

It all went downhill the more I saw them in action. Okay. For some reason, aliens could throw fireballs. Sure. They could also revive the dead. Alright. The dread I felt was explainable. I figured out their true nature once I met my first Pinky. The little horns gave it away.

Demons.

What. The. Fuck.

I was legit scared at that point, even more so when I learned that the shaved gorilla required a bit too many shotgun shells than a living being should be able to take. Wasn't even sure if my guns did something. It was like fighting clones, only way more frightening.

From then on, my life got shittier and shittier. I ended up in Hell, fought the (then) tallest fucking demon I've ever seen, stopped a brain on legs, returned to Earth, saved the Earth, took part in the Plutonia experiment (that one made me want to kill myself), said "fuck it" and retired, but then returned to Mars, whooped some ass, destroyed the Mother Demon, and decided to remain in Hell, because by then I stopped giving a fuck.

Then began my journey through thousands of different realities, armed with hundreds of different weapons. I once went medieval on their asses, then I became a pirate, then a fucking elf of all things, then I went back in time, then I went forward in time, and then I slaughtered my way through a technological Hell, and then and then. Fuck it. There's so much, I get a headache just thinking about it.

The only thing that always remained the same was the demonic threat. So many of them. So. Fucking. Many. I should know. Went against them for aeons and I still think I barely scratched the surface of this cancer. Boy, do they come in many flavors. There's the up close and personal ones, there's the invisible assholes, the ones that teleport, some can bend reality, others can steamroll a galaxy. Blue, brown, gray, red, green, black, yellow, white, pink. All of them are deadly, even the weakest ones.

"Cursed be your name, Doom Slayer! Cursed be the day you were born! My brethren shall melt your tools of warfare and fill your intestines with their slurry."

That's when the AI in my helmet (courtesy of an alien race I helped) went absolutely apeshit.

"Warning! Increase of Delta waves detected. Presence of Argent Energy detected. Demonic invasion imminent."

I swore under my breath, thinking how a horde was likely to appear. You see, sometimes the demons feel like the odds are in their favor, so they send a massive wall of flesh against me. One time they sent five hundred of them. I still came out on top though, for reasons that will soon be explained.

At the other end of the place, easily some three hundred meters away, a massive pillar of energy sprung into existence, turning into a red rift, a wound in reality used for dimensional travel, from which all kinds of shit came out in one giant group. I couldn't help but smirk under my helmet. It was too perfect to be real. They lined up like bowling pins. I had to do it. I simply had to.

I brought out the BFG.

God, the sheer horror of realization that struck their faces was priceless. By all means, it was the correct answer. This gun, the BFG? It's a monster. When a shotgun to the face won't do, then the only option left is to hurl a mini-star at them. Guaranteed success.

Luckily, I had one more shot left. The heavy trigger clicked as the massive weapon began whirring into life. In just a few seconds, the BFG shot a tiny green sphere at the demonic crowd. Everything that stood in its path liquefied like ice cream in the middle of a desert. The stragglers were zapped, exploding into bloody mists as guts, brains and pieces of bone splattered across the nearest surfaces.

It was a massacre.

What I didn't predict was the impact of the miniature star with the rift. For some reason I didn't understand, the collusion of two forces unleashed a massive amount of energy that changed the rift entirely. It went from red to green to white. What was then a door for another reality, now was a vacuum cleaner that attracted all things that weren't welded to the ground or walls.

That included me.

Now it was my turn to freak out. There was no way to tell if that thing was safe. Hell would be a nice destination, because then I could continue my crusade until they kick me out again. The vacuum of space, on the other hand? That's a big no-no. Even for me. So I did the first thing that came into my mind: I spun around and ran. It sounds stupid, but I was pretty confident in my running abilities.

I was twenty meters away from the nearest door. It was my only hope for salvation. As I ran, inching towards my goal at snail's pace, another thought came up all of a sudden. It was something like this:

"Wait. Am I stupid or what? I have no problem with going to Hell, but I'm scared shitless of the spatial void? Fuck the void! I'm a space marine! I kick ass in every environment!"

My whole body turned around with the speed of a bullet. My legs carried me towards the rift as I stashed away the BFG. Crossing my fingers, I rushed head first into the very thing that I tried to run away from moments ago, unaware of the shitshow that was about to happen.