A.N. So, after a lot of debating, I've decided to (metaphorically) kick the rating up to 'T'. I don't think it's a 'T' story… yet. But with some of my plans, better to be safe than sorry. Also, there may be content warnings on a few chapters, because honestly, I might push this to an 'MA' rating for the… DOOM-ness, so to say. Anyhow… let's meet the last players on the board, and see what happens when one of them does something so extremely stupid, even Magikarp would think it was a bad move.
Time was a funny thing. What was millennia ago to one may only be seconds to another. Days in one world could equal hours in another. It truly was impossible to say how much time passed between one world and another. Through this mindset, things will only become more complicated when someone is taken from one world and thrust into another. The question of their humanity may be raised, some believe they would never age a day after leaving their home 'world' as they aren't connected to it any more. Perhaps they did not leave their world willingly, and were thrown from it due to actions they took, or some sort of outside force. Perhaps they believed their life had ended in a heroic sacrifice, yet they woke in a new world. Or perhaps they had died, or were so close to death that it would be impossible to tell the difference.
"When you first came to us. You were an Outlander, a being whom was not trained in our ways. But your spark, your fury, was undeniable. For many Moons, I watched you, seeing the potential, the power, the heart. You brought insight of our enemy, and advice on how best to exterminate them."
The Outlander remained on his knee, his head lowered in respect to the one addressing him. He hadn't moved even an inch for nearly an hour, and had no intention of moving now.
"While the others may have been hesitant when you first arrived, we are all now in agreement. You may not be of our kind, but you are one of us."
Slowly, the figure took the helmet that was handed to him, and slowly put it on. It felt… right. Like this was something he had been wearing for centuries.
"Rise. For you are now, a Night Sentinel."
"HAROO! HAROO! HAROO!" The other Sentinel's chanted beating their chest rhythmically with their initiation chant. The Outlander bowed his head respectfully to the King, who placed a hand on his shoulder, before leading him over to a table where a collection of pieces of armor lay.
"While your armor may change across the ages, remember this: A warrior's armor, is a warrior's soul. Take pride in it, for it is yours, you have been deemed worthy to wear it. Wear it with pride. The pride of the Night Sentinels."
The metal, bone, and blacksmithed materials locked and connected. It felt like whomever was putting on this armor was gone, but not dead. More reborn, given a new identity, a new purpose. Arms were covered by gauntlets, hands finding their place in metallic gloves, to the untrained eye, the armor seemed almost… slapdashedly put together. Parts of metal seemed to be attached to the helmet for no real reason, a jawline affixed that seemed useless… but to the ones who wore this, none of that mattered. This armor was the sign of a promise, a decree, a declaration.
And on that day, the screams of hell were not screams of torment and agony, but screams of terror. For the demons knew there was a new force to fear, and this force didn't know the meaning of the word fear...
"AND STAY OUT!"
SLAM!
"Yo… so… uh, that didn't work…" Shake muttered, walking back to the others, his clothes singed and smoking.
"Really? We couldn't tell." One of the Skull Grunts remarked sarcastically.
"Hey, I thought it would." Shake shrugged.
"And that's why you shouldn't think." The female Skull Grunt, Nadia, remarked flatly.
"C'mon, let's think of a better plan and try again later." Shake said, walking off to find some non-burned clothes.
"…ugh…" The others groaned, walking off, not seeing another team watching from the distance.
The next day came, and things were weird, to say the least. Cynthia tried getting a better read on the Doom Slayer, and vice-versa, but she was just picking up anger. Anger, hatred, and apprehension. Now, she didn't believe any of that was directed at her, in fact, Vega seemed rather pleasant, but there was definitely something wrong about the Doom Slayer… he had agreed to meet with the other Legendaries, just as soon as his armor was fixed. Cynthia had a feeling this wasn't debatable, so she had agreed. Come morning, the Slayer decided to go get his armor, only for Kiawe to come running up to him, clearly in a panic.
"Dude! It- It's Krystal!" He managed to get out, clearly out of breath as if he had run half-way across the islands. "Her… her place got attacked! Some group stole your armor! This team called-" Kiawe didn't finish his sentence, as the Slayer had already grabbed his super shotgun, pushed him to the side, and taken off down the street. Everyone around him gave him plenty of room, knowing the look of a man who was clearly angry, and no someone to mess with.
"Slayer, who do you think could've taken your armor? And for what purpose?" Vega asked, trying to rationalize things. "Still, I understand your anger… should the Argent Energy inside it somehow corrupt, then whomever stole it will be in for-" Vega stopped talking when he realized what the Slayer was really angry about. "Oh, I understand."
The Slayer skidded to a stop when he saw someone, well, a group of someone's, and had a feeling he knew who was stupid enough to try and take his armor. While he didn't know his name, he quickly figured out who was the leader of Team Skull, and more importantly, who he was going to choke to death.
"So, you idiots ran in there, and thought you could just walk out with his gear?" Guzma asked, rubbing his face in disbelief.
"Pretty much, yeah." Shake nodded
"Annnndddd… how did that go?"
"Not great."
"Ah, okay. So, when this clearly didn't work, you proceeded to do it…"
"Three more times."
"Okay, great. Three more times." Guzma nodded, seeming way to calm about the whole situation. Finally, he turned to the others. "And you idiots just let this idiot do this four times because…?"
"It was funny." Split shrugged indifferently. Guzma thought the response over, then shrugged himself.
"Fair enough, but you didn't try and help him, or stop him, or…?"
"No, not really. We told him this was a bad idea, he tried doing it anyways, after the third time, we gave up trying to stop him." Split explained. "Heck, when he left the fourth time, we though he succeeded, but the shop was trashed, the suit was gone, and the girl was in bad shape."
"What did you do." Guzma growled.
"Nothing, boss! We swear!" Shake exclaimed defensively. "Apparently some other team busted in there and yanked it!"
"Well, have fun explaining that to him." Nadia muttered, looking off at something, or someone.
"Welp. Nice knowing you, kneecaps." Shake muttered, seeing the Slayer walking towards them.
"Huh, so that's the Slayer?" Guzma muttered, now seeing him closer than he had yet… and the Slayer was still getting closer. "Hey, don't know what your deal is, but we're in he middle of a meeGRK-"
Guzma was silenced when the Slayer grabbed him by the throat, slammed him onto the table, and began choking him.
"The Slayer will give you one chance. Where is his armor?" Vega asked as the other Grunts backed up, terrified of trying… anything. Well, except Shake, who grabbed a chair and tried to bash it over the Doom Slayer's head… it had no effect, and just made the Slayer look at him.
"Sorry… sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry…" Shake mumbled, backing up in feat.
"Wha…t…are…you…grrk…on about!?" Guzma struggled to get out. "I…don't…have…yer…suit!" The Slayer let go of Guzma, still glaring death and hatred at the Team Skull leader, who scoffed and shook his head. "Don't have it. Some of the crew went to steal it, but apparently someone else beat them to it." Guzma shrugged, seeming pretty darn calm all things considered, and Vega confirmed that he wasn't lying.
"Then who?" Vega asked.
"HEY! Spaceman!" A new voice called.
Uh-oh…
"Looking for this?!"
Now… I have a question for you all. What would be the stupidest thing you could do to the Doom Slayer? What single action could you perform that would push you to the top of his S**T list, more than any demon? Well… you could remind him of what he had lost. You could hurt his new team, you could kill Daisy…
"Looks good, don't it?!"
But the man standing before him did something even worse. Something that was not only an insult to the Slayer as a person, but as a warrior. As a Sentinel. What this man had done was an affront to everything that the Slayer was, to those he swore to protect, and those who gave him these tools.
"Th'name's Lysandre! This stuff's pretty cool!" Lysandre laughed, wearing the Slayer's armor.
"…he's gonna die." A teen with light-green hair remarked before taking a bite from a muffin.
"Probably." James muttered. When the Slayer blasted them, he seemed more annoyed than anything, but this? This was anger. And the members of Team Rocket were so thankful it wasn't aimed at them. This time.
"Welp…" The teen muttered, picking up a 9-stringed guitar. "Been waitin' a long time to do this…"
"HE MUST DIE." Immediately went through the Slayer's head.
"Slayer-"
"HE WILL DIE." The Slayer roared mentally as he ran forward, fueled by hatred and fury. He didn't say a word, but he screamed like a mad man in his mind.
"Aw, what's wrong? Angry someone borrowed your costume? Don't worry, once we get the schematics, I'll sell it back toOOOFFF!"
(*Cue – BFG DIVISION – DOOM 2016 SOUNDTRACK BY THE LEGENDARY MICK GORDON*)
Lysandre was sent flying back from the punch. Even with the Praetor Suit, the Slayer's fist packed a heckuva punch. Honestly, if he wasn't wearing the armor, most of his ribs would've shattered from the direct punch.
"What th-" He coughed, pulling himself up as the Slayer came running in for another attack. He jumped out of the way without grace or tact, mostly just desperately trying to not get hit again. The Slayer didn't let up, coming in for another attack, grabbing Lysandre's arm and flipping him over onto the ground, leaving a massive indent on the ground. By now, Cynthia and the others had caught up, and Vega-Gon looked to the Champion.
"Take the children away from here." Vega-Gon spoke, looking to Cynthia and the others. "Now."
"What?"
"Get them out of here. Immediately." The A.I. repeated himself. "The Slayer is about to kill a man, and it will not be merciful or bloodless."
"Wait, you're just going to-"
"Miss White. The second Lysandre took the Slayer's armor. He was already dead." Vega-Gon stated, his tone seeming more serious than before. "Nothing from Heaven or Hell will be able to stop the Slayer until he reclaims what is rightfully his. And he will kill Lysandre, and anyone who attempts to stop him. Please. For your own safety. Leave."
Lysandre grabbed what he thought was the Slayer's fist and twisted it away only for a shotgun to go off. The Team Flare leader realized something. THE SLAYER HAD A GUN.
Ha. 'A' gun…
"What?! This is your armor! Why isn't it working!?"
"The Armor does not give the Slayer his skill." Vega said, and Lysandre's eyes widened when he realized something and then was slugged again by another angry fist. "It is the millions of demons he has slaughtered, the thousands of years he has spent fighting, and the battles he claimed victory in which give him his strength, his title."
Lysandre was punched into the ground by another right hook. The leader of Team Flare began to realize something. This wasn't some dude in armor, this guy didn't need the armor… The Slayer's head snapped to the side when Lysandre hit him, but then immediately snapped back, clearly even more pissed off.
"I am sorry. You are going to die." Vega said, rather bluntly. Lysandre now realized the slayer was holding a chain gun. And the barrel was spinning. "Slayer, I advise caution, so you don't-"
BRATATATATATATTATATATAATATATATATATAT!
The Slayer didn't listen, he let loose a hailstorm of bullets, forcing Lysandre to dive for cover as the Slayer walked towards him, shredding the ground, trees, and a nearby bench. Everyone around the area was watching in mortified terror, but no one could move. No one, no matter how desperately they wanted to, could run. Tossing the chain gun to the side, the Slayer pulled out his shotgun and racked a slug one-handed. He fired it in the general direction of Lysandre, who was realizing just how badly he had screwed up. Even worse, it was clear the Slayer wasn't going to stop if he gave him his armor back… The plan had made sense! This armor was supposedly from some dude who fell from the sky and looked like he fought through hell, that would be useful for Team Flare, but now?! Now, he was realizing all too late that he had angered the one person you never wanted to anger. The shotguns blasts stopped, and then Lysandre felt someone grab his leg. Flipping him over his head, the Doom Slayer slammed him back into the ground, before grabbing the other leg, and swinging the Team Flare leader around him like someone in the Olympic hammer throw. Lysandre smashed through several lampposts before being thrown into a nearby concrete roadblock. He felt his head crack (not really, but still) when he smashed into it, and was left in nothing but shock and pain. The Slayer, was left with nothing but anger and hatred. Grabbing the leader of Team Flare, the Doom Slayer ran, plowing through a wall of a nearby building, and then another wall, and another, and another… honestly, by the time he was done, the Slayer had powered through nearly a dozen businesses' walls, bashing Lysandre into every single one of them.
Throwing the leader of Team Flare to the ground, the Doom Slayer stomped down near his head, telling him to get up.
"A'right! You win man! Just stop!" Lysandre begged. The Slayer, just punched him again. In Night Sentinel culture, if you took another man's armor, you challenged him for his place, and that challenge ended in one way, and one way only. One winner, and someone being dead. Granted, this had only happened maybe, twice in the entire history of the Night Sentinels, but the challenge was still honored to this day, and the Slayer saw two men alive. One of them needed to stop being alive.
CRACK!
The Slayer stumbled back as Lysandre managed to hit him, punching him directly in the helmet. To his credit, the Team Flare leader actually managed to get off a few hits, pushing the Slayer back a few steps… but where the Slayer fought with fury so powerful hell itself couldn't contain him, Lysandre was fighting with desperate anger. Without warning, a long blade jutted out from the Slayer's arm piece, and the Slayer jumped back to avoid it. Unfortunately for Lysandre, it quickly disappeared again, and he clearly didn't know how to make that happen on command.
The Slayer shattered Lysandres' nose before grabbing him by the throat. Grabbing onto the top of the chest piece, the Slayer wrenched back, feeling the nearly unbreakable bonds that kept the armor together fighting his action. However, Lysandre both was thinner, and less experienced than the Slayer, and he hadn't equipped the armor properly, and the Slayer ripped the armor off of the beaten and bleeding leader of Team Flare. It took about twenty seconds, but Lysandre was now armor-less, and the Slayer wasn't even close to done.
"HE IS NOT WORTHY." The Slayer roared in his mind, while remaining eerily silent the entire time.
The next thing Lysandre knew, a bench was smashed into his face, sending him flying and splintering the wood and steel. He groaned in pain, and tried to pull himself away, but the Slayer grabbed him, slamming him back into the ground. This wasn't combat in a tournament, this wasn't even combat for survival, this was combat fueled by anger. And only one of the fighters had the anger to be able to put up a fight. The other, had just done the one thing to give him said anger…
The Slayer just kept punching, Lysandre's face was growing bloodier and bloodier. His nose, was shattered, several teeth were missing, and it was clear the Slayer wasn't going to stop until he was dead. If he wanted, the Slayer could've simply snapped his neck, or shot him in the head, or done this any other number of ways… but this man had done something which pissed the Slayer off in a way he hadn't felt in centuries. He didn't deserve to just die, he needed to suffer. Was this man innocent? Technically speaking, yes. But while the slayer held the lives of the innocent above all else, those morals were compounded by the comradery, and eventual betrayal, of the Night Sentinels.
The Slayer stopped for a few moments, looking from Lysandre to his bloody fist, then back to the beaten, pathetic form of Team Flare's leader, before taking his super shotgun out from behind him.
"HE DEAD!" The teen shouted from the sidelines, slinging the guitar onto his back.
Aiming the gun, the Slayer was ready to blast Lysandres' head open, until someone grabbed his arm. Whoever did wasn't that strong, and barely budged it, but it got his attention.
"Please. Let him go." Lillie asked quietly, holding the Slayer's arm. However, he was still as a mountain, and his whole body seemed to exhume hatred. "You don't need to kill him! You've proven your point! Just let him go!" The Slayer turned towards her, still holding his gun, and was suddenly tackled by that creature from the labs. Null? Or something like that. It sidelined him and made him drop his gun, which in turn made him grab another gun, but hesitated when he remembered these creatures simply followed orders.
"LILLIE! GET AWAY FROM HIM!" A boy ran in and grabbed Lillie, pulling her away from the Slayer out of fear. The creature, Type: Null, growled defensively and put itself between the Slayer, and the two children. The Slayer began to raise his gun, but quickly put two and two together of who this boy was, and lowered his gun. He looked back down at the blood and broken Lysandre, then looked up, looking around at everyone watching, his message being loud and clear. Finally, the Slayer looked down at Lillie, and nodded, putting the shotgun away.
KrUN-CH!
The Slayer drove his boot down, effectively ensuring Lysandre wouldn't be using his right hand for a few… years. If he was lucky. The Slayer stood in the centre of the square he had trashed, and looked around. Piece by piece, he re-attached his armor. It felt… different. He remembered the fire one saying Krystal had been robbed, his mind made up on what he needed to do, he set off towards Krystal's garage, wanting to make sure she was okay.
"What… the hell… is that thing…" Guzma muttered, having no words for what he just witnessed.
"That's the dude I was tellin' ya 'bout, Boss!" J-Roc exclaimed. Guzma muttered something under his breath, and seemed deep in through.
"…anyone else thinkin' we're on the wrong team?" Nadia commented, looking to the others.
"Yo, what you sayn' man?"
"Like… THAT DUDE, man! Do you think he sees us as the enemy?!" Nadia asked, not knowing the Slayer couldn't think less of them. "Whaddya think he'd do if we angered him!?"
"What are you saying? We ask if there's a Team Slayer, or somethin'?!" Split spat sarcastically. Nadia just nodded and Split scoffed. "You can't be serious!"
"I am! If we try and fight that… thing. We're dead, man!"
As he walked away, the Slayer looked around, taking in the fear from all surrounding him. Good. Hopefully no one would try something like this again. As he walked by a resturaunt, he saw the two with the stupid hair… the ones that were extremely annoying… as well as the teenager who had inexplicably been playing the guitar during his fight.
"Hi!" The teen waved. "Don't mind us! We're just getting lunch!"
The Slayer blinked, something about the teen seemed both familiar, and almost fanboy-ish. Whatever. Those Rocket idiots were clearly frightened enough to know they wouldn't try anything today. Ignoring the group, he was with, the Doom Slayer walked off, re-attaching his bracers, and noted that they seemed… different. Parts of them were missing, and the overall feel of the armor was different. It wasn't as tight as the Praetor suit. He didn't hate it, but he wanted to find Krystal.
"Lillie… what is that thing?" The boy asked, his voice low and genuinely nervous.
"He's the Doom Slayer, Gladion." Lillie answered. "He's kinda been protect me and the others these past few days… I've never seen him that violent before…"
Krystal groaned, looking around the garage. It was in bad shape, but it could be fixed. It wouldn't be hard… it was just more of an annoyance to her. Still, she wasn't sure she'd need to worry about fixing this place if the Slayer found out what happened… Krystal was ripped from her thoughts by heavy footsteps, and initially believed Lysandre had returned. But her spine froze and heart plummeted to the center of the earth when she saw the garage door be lifted up, and the Slayer walked in, wearing his armor.
"I'm…I'm so sorry…" Krystal whispered, tearing up and refusing to look at the Doom Slayer. It was clear to the hell walker that she thought he was going to kill her for what happened. "I-I-I was working, and then Team Skull showed up, and I chased them off, but then Team Flare came while I was dealing with them, and they trashed the place, and they said if I left here until they returned they'd kill my family, and I couldn't fight back, and…"
"The Doom Slayer does not blame you for anything, Miss Krystal." Vega-Gon spoke, getting her attention, even if she was still afraid to look at him. "You did everything you could, and you repaired his armor, which was all that was asked of you. We only knew of those known as 'Team Skull', and we assumed after their last encounter with the Slayer they wouldn't try anything like this, we didn't know about 'Team Flare'. Presently, the Slayer is more concerned for your well-being. The ones known as 'Team Flare', did they hurt you?"
"N-no." Krystal sighed, looking up at the Slayer, the confidence and personality she had slowly returning. "No, I'm fine."
"Good." Vega-Gon said as the Slayer nodded. "We didn't think this would put you at risk, we will ensure Team Flare leaves your family alone." Krystal was about to ask what he meant, but the Slayer turned and left. Krystal blinked, feeling like she needed to go after him, even if it was just to explain what she had done to the suit. "We will be back momentarily."
Returning to the scene of the fight, the Slayer looked for about twenty seconds, then figured out where Team Flare had gone, and set off after them. Another twenty seconds later, he had found them, and they all recoiled in shock when they saw him. A few tried to take a stance to fight, but the Slayer pushed them aside indifferently. Ignoring Lysandre, the Slayer grabbed who he assumed was the second-in-command and slammed them into a wall.
"The Slayer is only going to say this once. If any of you go within six miles of Miss Krystal's family, you will be killed." Vega spoke. "You have yet to see the more powerful weapons available to the Slayer, and should you threaten or harass her ever again, he will not hesitate to kill anyone who associates with your organization. You have seen what he has done when you anger him. You do not want to see what he does to the ones who hurt those he cares for, especially when he is using his guns." Deciding the message was done, the Slayer throw the second-in-command to the ground and headed back to Krystal's glaring a death threat at Lysandre, who didn't look up at the Slayer. It was clear he was battered, broken, afraid, and pissed… but still, the Slayer figured he knew better than to try anything.
"Are you out of your mind!?" Cynthia demanded, storming up to the Doom Slayer, who pushed her to the side and kept walking. "You can't just attack someone like- hey! I'm talking to you!"
Cynthia walked in front of the Slayer, getting him to stop… for about two seconds. Without warning, he picked Cynthia up, turned to the left, set her down, and kept walking.
"Hey! I wasn't done!" She shouted.
"Ms. White, the Slayer is not going to listen to you." Vega-Gon spoke up. "There are reasons he reacted the way he did, reasons you cannot begin to understand, and-"
"That may be, but he can't just go around firing guns off and beating someone to death!" Cynthia cut in, clearly angered.
"Lysandre is alive."
"That's not the point!"
"By the points you've made, it is." Vega-Gon replied matter-of-factly. "Furthermore, what did you think was going to happen?"
"I don't know! I wasn't there when he stole it!" Cynthia growled, irritated Vega was either ignoring her point, or not getting it. "But he can't just go around attacking people like that!"
"Which would you prefer Miss White? A man who antagonized the Slayer being brutalized, or the Slayer ignoring everyone and publicly executing a man?" Vega-Gon asked.
"Neither!"
"The Slayer, in your kind's terms, does not give a crap about you or what you think." Vega-Gon said with finality.
Back at the shop, Krystal was showing the Slayer the work she had done.
"Listen, I'm really sorry, but some of this stuff couldn't be salvaged." Krystal frowned, motioning to a few bits, namely two parts along the arms. "But I used those parts to reinforce your shoulders and chest piece, it also should give you more flexibility." Looking in the mirror, the Slayer took in his new design, and nodded in approval. Okay, some parts couldn't be salvaged, that was bound to happen eventually, and hey. They got re-used. "Oh! I added this!" she remarked, pointing to the Slayer's left arm, seeing what looked like a sheath on it. The Slayer looked to her, then copied the movement she made, and a blade jutted out. The Slayer looked from the blade, over to Krystal, then back surprisingly quickly, before nodding his approval of its awesomeness.
The two went over a few more things, until some sirens went off and several tiger-dog pokémon appeared outside the shop.
"Sir in the armor! We have the building surrounded! Please come out with your hands up! We don't want more bloodshed!"
"Aw, crap…" Krystal muttered, fearing she was about to be caught in a police shoot-out. Or more accurately, a police massacre. Shockingly, the Slayer nodded to her, walking out with his hands up. However, none of the cops approached him. One of them opened a police van's back doors, and the Slayer nodded, getting into the back with an officer who clearly was realizing they weren't getting paid enough for this…
"Should we do something?" Mewtwo asked, watching from a distance.
"…urgh, no." Darkrai sighed. "Knowing him, he'll be out within the hour, let's meet with Cynthia and try to arrange a meeting location." With that, the two legendaries took their leave, noting with an amused smirk at the song playing over the radio as the police drove off.
Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
NEXT TIME! The Slayer in jail! For like… twenty seconds. Do these people honestly think their jail cells will hold the Slayer? Who knows… also, time for another big meeting! And for an even bigger ego-measuring competition!
