"For someone so young, you hold so much resilience." Mephistopheles spoke, an almost tenderness in his voice, "Why is that?"
"You already know." The Reaper retorted, head hung, voice low.
"I suppose I do, time to continue testing that resolve.
And… I felt you might wish to know, a small part of me hates this."
Marcus only sank lower.
"Just get it fucking over with."
"You know how to make this stop, dear boy." Meph cooed, "Just a few words."
"Okay," Marcus grimaced in pain, the product of a flogging for insolence, raising his head to grin.
"Why don't you both go fuck yourselves?"
He choked as bile and viscous blood rose in his throat from a punch to the stomach, swallowing it down just in time to be slammed into the stone and shredding the already tattered clothes he wore. His vision rolled and spun as he felt his freshly torn open back hit the iron bars of his improvised cell.
A swift kick fractured his ribs for the seventh time, at least by his count, as he was thrown again into the opposite wall. Mephistopheles stalked over, pissed to high hell and shot a foot into the underside of his chin, snapping it up to meet his glare.
"Yield." he spat, his contemptuous gaze burning a hole between the Reaper's eyes.
"You want me to repeat that?" He coughed, blood and bile finally rose as he retorted,
"Go. Fuck. Yourselves."
He stood shakily as Meph left, them staggered into a corner and retched as The Dark Lord stepped inside. Without a word, he launched into the Reaper's mind, sending him tumbling from consciousness.
He was back to himself again, from years past, a teenager.
"This again?" He sighed, and stepped inside.
His father waved and grinned as he set his school bag down, greeting him with a plate of steak and collard greens. He ate and went upstairs to his room, slightly unnerved, why was his dad acting so nice, so warm, he was an abusive alcoholic bastard just the day before.
Wasn't he?
He woke up by being physically pulled from bed and slugged in the stomach, dragged out of his room
Another punch snapped him back to the present, and he snapped his head up to the Dark Lord's. He strained against the chains around his wrists with a burst of adrenaline filled strength, but soon it waned, and he sank down, as he did, the Slayer's Vengeance, pulled from his "void space" as he called it, hit the stones.
Mephistopheles' eyes lit up as he entered, gingerly picking it up, a small smile across his face.
"The fabled Super Shotgun, What would possess humans to make such a contraption?" He mused, "Lucifer's Bane, our kind calls it." He smirked as Marcus raged against his binds, face twisted into an animalistic snarl.
But the chains would not break.
He screamed obscenities and furious rage as Mephistopheles simply burnt the weapon to ash.
"You bastard!" He shouted, "YOU'LL DIE FOR THAT! I'LL MAKE SURE OF IT ON THE DAMN ANGELS THEMSELVES!"
"You're welcome to try, Reaper. You're welcome to try and kill me." He challenged, his signature smirk never leaving his face as he left.
William stepped into the Blood Swamps with one goal in mind, and effortlessly tore through the entrance with barely a thought. Super Shotgun in hand, Doomblade extended, he lunged into the bloodbath, slashing a diagonal half out of a Zombie and blasting a quartet of Imps into scarlet paste. The Meathook's flames lashed down the length of the golden, (although bloodied) chain as he gripped and swung toward a Baron, the Bruiser letting out a low growl as it's ashen skin burned away, just before a shotgun blast tore through its chest, sending it down. He hefted it up by a fiery horn, slitting its throat in a spray of orange blood.
He raged on as drums pounded in his ears, spurred on by a rage fueled bloodlust. Whatever abject humanity the Slayer retained over the past two years was gone at this moment, the only thing that mattered to him was the pure merciless extermination of any and all demons in his path. And damn the consequences along with them.
A fireball spun through the air, the Imp in question leaping back as it sailed past the Slayer's shoulder, just before he tore its leg off and slammed it down on its head with enough force to cave into a bloody mess.
He roared as another Baron leapt toward him, glowing blue, William leapt back, sending a barrage of rockets toward the demon, and dashed back again as it tanked all three, continuing its charge, shooting a fist out with too much controlled precision for the heavyset brute.
The Slayer's breath was torn from his lungs as the punch connected, sending the man back by several steps, William grimaced, the Ballista singing as it fired, blasting a chunk out of the Baron and sending the blueish glow fading from its eyes with an ear-piercing shriek.
A Summoner flew out in a blue haze as the Slayer let off a plasma blast, sending the apparition back as the demon's around it exploded. Slamming the Microwave Beam home into its socket, the plasma charged and hummed as the beam of energy locked the spirit in place. It screamed, thrashing in vain just a moment before it dissipated in a explosion of plasmatic energy.
Moving onward after a minute, William came upon the glowing green Sentinel hound, much the same as he'd seen in Exultia. It dashed away, beckoning the Slayer to follow. The Slayer dashed forward to keep up with the wolf, into a foggy clearing just before it leapt into a lantern post, casting a green glow around him.
The Slayer growled, readying his Heavy Cannon in anticipation.
Mephistopheles was one hell of a second in command, and he knew it. Initially, it was his idea,
"We create a new Reaper. One more… suited to your needs. We have what's necessary."
The Dark Lord regarded him a long moment before nodding.
"I will create a suitable host, you will serve as the demon. You know the risks, Mephistopheles." He warned. "Don't be stupid."
Mephistopheles only nodded and left.
Bullets sang and Argent hummed as William dodged and tore through the demon horde with ease. An Imp split in half, a zombie charred by plasma, a Hell Knight's blown off by a shotgun blast. He wished for his Crucible, he'd be able to shred this horde without a second thought.
"I'm coming kid," The Slayer thought grimly, finally letting his weapons spoke as the last demons sank down, chunks blown out of their bodies. William sighed, his body felt heavy, tired.
But he had to keep going, not just for his friend, but the Earth, no, the galaxy itself. He huffed a breath out, wiping his visor free of blood and reloading his Super Shotgun.
"No rest for the weary, huh?" He asked himself, "I suppose not."
He took another breath and continued walking.