"None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer.

By his hand were felled the Titans, from the impregnable Behemoth to the ancient Leviathan, they who were birthed to kill the celestial gods. The Five Heresiarchs were cast down to Tartarus, and the Nameless One bound with unbreakable chains in that frozen lake of nothingness. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the Fallen Hosts, driving them to deeper and darker pits.

But from the depths of the Abyss rose The Great One, The Champion Titan, mightier than all who had come before. Born from the might of the five Heresiarchs, of immeasurable power and ferocity, created solely to end the Slayer's rampage.

He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.

The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the infernal horde were routed."

- Excerpt from the Slayer's Testament

E1M12: No Rest for the Wicked

The Slayer looked forward with determination as he fell through the dimensional stream, leaving behind the Cyberdemon's grave and plummeting towards the Umbral Plains of Hell.

He wasn't headed towards a desolate plane like the Kadingir Sanctum or an abandoned demonic battle-fortress. He was headed towards the Umbral Plains, one of the most violent and hostile infernal realms, home to some of the most powerful and cruel beasts in Hell. It was like jumping into the middle of the ocean with nothing but open water and directly into a feeding frenzy of sharks.

When he landed, he needed to hit the ground running.

The rift he fell through opened up ahead. He tightened his grip on his shotgun as the Sentry Bot on his shoulder leaned forward. Armored Offensive, God Speed, and Momentum Swing equipped. With a bright swell of fire, the two burst through the portal.

"ROOOOAAAAWWWWRRRR!"

No sooner had the Slayer's foot hit the ground that the thick horde descending upon him amidst a burning Hellscape of scorched rock and lava. Mountain ranges and colossal bone remains provided cover from the raging heat of a Tyrant Star that blazed in the crimson sky, though a giant blazing sigil burned directly overhead. Imps, Pinkies, Cacodemons, Hell Knights, Mancubi, and two Barons of Hell. They'd been expecting him. The Slayer immediately grabbed an imp that leapt at him and tossed it back before aiming his super shotgun and firing.

POWW!

He tossed grenades left and right to clear his surroundings as he switched to the chaingun and carved a path through the horde and rushed towards the mountains. It wouldn't be long before beasts stronger than the Barons appeared and he wasn't about to fight this horde, he was going to get away as fast as possible.

One of the Barons charged through a lava stream unimpeded and splashed red-hot magma onto the smaller demons while he charged a Gauss Cannon siege blast and fired it at the demon, followed by a prompt barrage from the Screamer. He tossed a stun bomb at the other approaching Baron and returned his focus to his original target which stood up and extended black claws almost two meter long from its hands and-

They reminded him of Taylor's claws.

-slashed them at him. He barely managed to react before three burning energy waves hissed past and eviscerated the horde behind him. Seeing then that the demon lord was dull yellow-brown instead of red and with forward-pointing horns, the Slayer braced as the Deathclaw Baron focused power into the largest middle claws on each of its hands and slashed them both in wide arcs around itself, releasing two burning waves that bisected the mob and soared dangerously fast at him. He leapt over the wave but neglected to notice the Deathclaw stabbing its hand into the ground and releasing a groundspike wave that charged at him and struck, blasting him back into the Hellscape and reducing his HEALTH from 100 to 62.

The nearest Mancubus launched a wave of flaming bile from its arm cannons at him and he swiftly rushed out of the way as the attack ate through the horde. A fully-armored Blood Pinky charged at him in a fiery blaze and the ground rumbled at his feet before a centipede-like Hellion burst through, and though the Slayer ardently fought back with the chaingun, Gauss Cannon, and Screamer, he found his HEALTH steadily ticking down.

The image of the Elite Guard desperately fighting off the relentless waves flashed through the Slayer's mind, and he grimaced as a stabbing feeling passed through his heart.

Without warning, the sky above him changed to a glooming dark-green as sickly storm clouds churned overhead and something bellowed from within.

That wasn't an environmental phenomena, that was a Stormbane.

An increasingly alarmed Slayer charged a Gauss Cannon siege blast and fired it at the mob to clear a path and Rampaged towards the mountains as writhing tentacles emitting noxious fumes descended from the dark clouds. He swerved around these and rushed through a pass in the mountains towards the open plains, hoping he could find cover from the Tyrant Star's scorching light behind some of the gigantic skeletal remains.

The horde followed hot on his trail and launched fireballs and slicing waves at him, but he surged through the pass and ran along the shade of a beast's giant ribcage. The demons followed after him and the weakest ones were immediately cremated by the blazing beams of the distant Tyrant Star, but the stronger ones continued after him with seared skin and the Barons and Stormbane were completely unaffected.

He finally caught sight of the Champion Titan's immeasurably large corpse splayed across the Hellscape. Its ribs rose for untold kilometers on either side and arced across the blazing sky. A wretched planet had crashed onto its arm and spread its smoldering rubble across the bone, and its colossal buried skull faintly gazed through the gloom even as it occupied an entire portion of the visible sky.

The Slayer toggled the Sentry Bot's defensive fire off to conserve munitions as he planned his next course of action.

He was fine, he still had 47 HEALTH. He would lose the horde, find shelter to gather his bearings, and head towards-

"...you're a long way from home, aren't you?..."

The Slayer's blood turned to ice.

"...what are you doing so far from home, boy? This is no place to play soldier…"

"...your mother's worried sick, you should run back home…"

"...why did you leave her behind?..."

Those voices. He hadn't heard them since before he arrived with the Sentinels.

They'd found him again.

A bellowing on the horizon brought the Slayer's attention back to the Umbral Plains, and he looked up to find himself headed directly towards the empty stare of a Void Gazer, a colossal ink-black entity that stained the sky itself with yawning night.

"ROAH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!"

The Slayer's gut sank as he heard the telltale bellows of Basilisks on the horizon.

Sensing the Stormbane moving above him and its many yellow eyes shooting fireballs at him, the Slayer thought fast and grabbed a leaping Hellion and tore it in half to recover 15 HEALTH and 7 ARMOR before he strafed to the side and into the burning light of the Tyrant Star.

56 HEALTH. 49. 41.

The Tyrant Star was unbelievably far yet it still had enough power at such distance to sear the Umbral Plains with its cursed light. The Slayer grimaced as he raced through the heat and rushed into the shade of an ancient skeleton's giant arm.

"...where are your fellow troops, soldier? You can't expect to survive here on your own…"

"...they're dead. All dead. In Phobos, in Argent D'Nur, and on Mars…"

"...you left them to die…"

Don't listen to them, DON'T LISTEN TO THEM!

The Slayer was careless of his surroundings and charged directly into the embrace of a demonic Shadow that manifested amidst the shade, which immediately enveloped the racing Slayer with an ice-cold sensation and began draining his vitality.

39 HEALTH. 36. 33.

FUCK!

The Slayer skewed to the left and briefly entered the Tyrant Star's scorching light to burn the Shadow off of him, which fell away with an echoing howl but not before losing another 7 HEALTH. He spun around and tossed a Siphon Grenade at the pursuing mob to boost his HEALTH to 72 and his ARMOR to 45 but the horde, Basilisks, and Stormbane were still after him, he struggled to outrun the Void Gazer's destructive gaze, and the voices would not stop.

This was bad, this was really bad. He did not have the munitions or equipment to take out demons this size! He needed to lose them and find shelter immediately-!

A mountain exploded in a blaze of smoke and arcane fire, showering the Hellscape with boulders and smoldering rubble. The Slayer did not stop running and swerved across the rubble as something roared from within the mountain.

"RAAAAAHHHHH!"

There was too much dust to see clearly, but by the strange red glow, the Slayer could see the outline of a massive beast as tall as the Cyberdemon pulling itself free from the mountain, with a long scorpion-like body, four insectoid legs, two clawed arms, and two glaring voracious eyes.

What is that WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

"RAAAAAHHHHH!"

The Scorpion Abherrant immediately charged at him with terrifying speed despite its excessive size, and with only a split-second of hesitation, the Slayer grit his teeth and utilized a hidden trick he used to wield, siphoning his thus accumulated Berserker rage to empower his movement speed even outside of Berserk. He hadn't tested this ability after waking up on Mars and wasn't sure he could sustain it yet, but he was more desperate to get away from the Abherrant alone than he'd ever been with the Annihilator.

A massive clawed arm from the Abherrant swooped down upon him, but the Slayer ignited with crimson lightning as he redirected his accumulated Berserk energy and blazed away like a fiery comet.

The Void Gazer turned away and indifferently lumbered away into the Hellscape, and the demon horde, Basilisks, Stormbane, and Abherrant were far behind, though still chasing after him. If he could just find some shelter-!

A bright green light on the horizon drew his attention, and the Slayer looked left to find something resembling a distant green flare rising into the sky before erupting in a blazing mark, his Mark.

A signal for him.

What the…

"...you are alone. You have nothing, and you have no one…"

A grasping tentacle enveloped in toxic gas descended from the Stormbane towards him, and the Slayer grimaced before digging his hand into the ground and broke a hard left as he headed towards the blazing signal.

GREEN MEANS GO!

The Slayer raced towards the signal as the ground began to crack and split apart by the Scorpion Abherrant's presence. Wretched twisted beasts crawled out of the fissures and razor-sharp monolithic spines stabbed through the ground all around him, but he pressed forward in the direction of his Mark.

"RAAAAAHHHHH!"

He could hear the Abherrant gaining on him. The Stormbane and horde still followed, and the Mark in the sky was roughly fifty seconds away.

He guessed he only had forty seconds of Berserker speed left.

He frowned and grit his teeth to the point of pain and surged forward.

"...you have no name, you have no face…"

"...you cannot remember your own past, and you lack any direction for your future…"

"...your efforts have all been for naught…"

"...no legacy apart from the ruin of all you held dear…"

"ROOOOOAAAAAHHHHH!"

The Stormbane howled and manifested a series of arcane energy bursts across the Hellscape, and the Slayer swerved and strafed around these but was caught in their shockwaves and saw his ARMOR steadily drop.

Forty seconds to the signal!

"...you have no purpose, no faith…"

"...you do not even have hope…"

"...Is your life a life worth living?..."

The crimson sky overhead darkened once more with roiling black storm clouds that swiftly formed out of nowhere, lightning flashing across these like spears of fury.

Thirty seconds to the signal!

The Slayer saw the massive body of the Stormbane finally descend in front of him, its many arms blocking the path forward and its gaping maw yawning under a dozen black eyes and two curved ram-like horns. He grimaced in disgust before leaping into its open jaws and blasting his way out the back of its throat with a Gauss Cannon siege blast. The Stormbane howled in agony behind him but the Slayer hit the ground once more and continued forward.

"...you have nothing…"

"...you are nothing…"

Twenty seconds!

Something loomed through the storm, and the Slayer looked up to see a colossal circular structure several kilometers in diameter descending amidst the black clouds. Rough featureless black metal, glowing blue thrusters from dimensional engines, and a central core directly above the green Mark in the distance. A demonic battle-fortress. The Scorpion Abherrant made a soft growl and slowed down as it fell behind, the spines and fissures it produced from the ground likewise stopping.

They'd led him right into a trap.

"...why do you still fight for a people you no longer believe deserves salvation?..."

His Berserker energy reserves ran out, but he pushed himself to still maintain that speed regardless as he desperately searched for a way out. His entire body began screaming in protest as he overstrained himself to dangerous levels. He could feel his tendons tearing, his bones cracking, and through his watering eyes he could see his HEALTH steadily dropping.

WARNING: PERMANENT DAMAGE IMMINENT

ABORT NOW

His visor flashed red as the Sentry Bot screeched in alarm. The Praetor Suit began sparking and its plating cracked. It was breaking.

"...you can't run forever…"

He couldn't stop! Not now!

The Slayer pressed forward still. He swerved away from the looming Mark and turned back towards the wasteland as his HUD sputtered and went dark, leaving him blind in the dark.

He needed to keep running. He needed to get away-

"How could you ever hope to save them, if you couldn't even save her?"

Something broke inside the Slayer, and everything went silent. His legs stopped moving and he soared forward through the air, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widening in shock as the ground seemed to rise to meet him in slow-motion.

CRASH! THUD! SMASH!

He hit the ground and crashed hard against rock. He rolled and bounced off several times off the rocky scrags in his uncontrolled tumble, feeling the snap of breaking bones every time he landed. His visor hit an outcrop and the glass loudly cracked.

Thud!

…

The Slayer came to a halt face-down on the rocky ground, a cleaved path of destruction trailing behind him. The Praetor Suit was shattered and dropped several components, revealing the charred steaming red flesh beneath. His legs wouldn't respond and he could tell they were broken.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

His limbs, his back, his head. His vision was clouded and he could barely see the ground in front of him. He coughed and spat blood on the inside of his visor.

His chest…It felt like something was stabbing his chest…

What…what happened?

The Sentry Bot had fallen off his shoulder and had a broken leg too, but it picked itself up and slowly waddled over to where he lay. It placed a leg on his arm and chirped as it gently shook him, urging him to get up. He painfully strained to bring his right arm forward and reach for the bot, until he noticed the gauntlet had broken off his hand, and revealed the Mark on his hand.

It was fading before his eyes.

After only a few seconds, the Slayer's Mark on his hand faded and disappeared.

It was gone.

The Marine looked up at the giant demonic citadel above him, slowly moving its core over where he lay.

What had they done to him?

Through the roars and thunder, the Marine could hear footsteps getting closer. The dark twisted shapes of demons appeared around him, leering yet skeptic of what lay before him.

"...the Slayer…"

"...Doom Slayer…"

"Is it really the Slayer?'

Their rasping tongues grated upon his ears, and the Sentry Bot stood up defensively against the approaching mob.

"Let's kill him now, I want to taste his blood."

"Let's eat his bones."

"I want to devour his soul!"

He struggled to signal the Praetor Suit to equip the super shotgun, but the Suit did not respond and was completely dark. He didn't even know that was possible, unless…

Unless the Praetor Suit no longer recognized him.

A clawed foot stomped heavily on the Marine's arm, and he grit his teeth in pain before a tentacled hand closed around his neck and raised him into the air. He found himself face-to-face with a minor demon lord with scaly white skin, a red maw with four large fangs, and a blank eyeless face. A Dimensional Shambler.

"THIS is the Slayer of legend?" Spoke the monster in its infernal tongue. "Weak. Pathetic. I expected more."

The Sentry Bot screeched and fired its laser at the demon, but this cruelly kicked the bot away and smashed it against a rocky outcrop, after which it went dark and lay still. A furious Marine gripped the demon's arms and strained to break its grip from his neck, but he couldn't find the strength to move even one of the demon's fingers.

What had they done to him?!

"I hear you're immortal. You can suffer any harm, and still resurrect after. Is that true?"

The Shambler raised its other hand and extended a hissing black blade from its palm. The edge was shattered and irregular yet deadly sharp, like broken glass. The demon slowly brought the blade closer to the Marine's eyes. He slammed and punched at the Shambler's arm, but it did not release him.

"My masters can wait until after I'm done with you.

I will enjoy watching you suffer."

SMASH!

A burning blade passed through the Shambler's head and caused its headless corpse to drop the Marine as a fiery spinning blur razed through the horde and caused the mob to shriek and howl in alarm. Another black blur suddenly stormed from the Marine's other side with a massive crackling sword held out in front of it, slicing through demons clean in half before it stopped and shouted to the heavens.

"NOW!"

That language…it wasn't an infernal tongue, it was Old Germanic. An Earth language!

The black storm clouds immediately dissipated and revealed bright blue teleportation flashes over them as tall slim figures descended around the downed Marine and ignited defensive shieldings between them, raising several lines of translucent spherical barriers as the two initial warriors cleared out the demons around him and surged towards the writhing horde. The Marine desperately crawled along the ground towards the broken Sentry Bot even through the white-hot pain when a hand suddenly rested upon his shoulder and he looked up into the blank face-mask of a Mantid Warrior, a member of the insectoid Hallowed nation that had once unified with the Sentinels under the Corrax Alliance.

"Do not be alarmed!" Yelled the four-meter tall alien in eerie English, though he could still hear the faint chittering of its mouthparts beneath the mask. "We are here to help!"

Corrax? Here?

The Marine heard shouting of various Earthly languages above him, and taking the broken bot into his hands, he looked up and saw dozens of bright red figures plummeting from the fortress and descending upon the demon horde.

The first warrior was the one who'd freed him from the Dimensional Shambler, a muscular man in a toga whose ashen skin was marked with bright red tattoos, blazing through the horde with two fiery blades attached to his arms by chains and marked with ancient Greek symbols. He spun the blades around himself to eliminate twenty demons before grabbing a short ax from his back and tossing it at the Deathclaw Baron to freeze its arm and shatter it with a dazzling violet wave he launched from a bronze Egyptian sword on his waist. The roaring Deathclaw slashed its remaining arm and released three energy waves at the warrior, but he deflected the attack with a golden bracer over his arm and impaled the demon with a blade through the chest before surging forward with winged boots and using both blades to tear the Deathclaw's head off.

The second warrior was a man in pitch-black power armor in the shape of a wolf with glaring red eyes, trailing a large black cape behind him and wielding a massive bladed weapon as long as the man was tall.

It was too big to be called a sword. Too big, too thick, too heavy, more like a raw hunk of iron.

The man did not so much "swing" the sword as he allowed its sheer momentum to carry it and even him across the battlefield, using jet thrusters on his power armor to guide his trajectory as he sliced through Hell Knights, Hellions, and Cacodemons with ease. The Black Knight raised his left arm and fired a barrage of brilliant azure bolts from an arm-mounted autocannon to shred through the horde before extending a shoulder-mounted barrel and incinerating the mob with an incandescent torrent of azure flame. The other Baron of Hell roared at the swordsman and launched one green fireball after another before slamming its fists onto the ground to release a flaming wave, but there was a red-and-white blur and the Black Knight stormed through the attack completely unharmed, jet thrusters firing and igniting his sword in a brilliant azure glow to pass through the Baron and slice it clean in half.

Another warrior stormed across the plains like a comet, a man with short spiky white hair and raging white eyes whose entire body appeared biomechanical in nature, his muscular flesh resembling stone though his forearms were ornate metal. The Marine recognized the markings on his skin and his tattered red-and-blue trousers as ancient Indian, the golden sash around his waist reading "Destructor" in Sanskrit. The roaring warrior threw a barrage of rapid-fire punches to release scarlet energy bolts onto the demon horde like rockets, forcing the mob back with the searing shockwaves from his screams alone. He launched a volley of fireballs at the encroaching Stormbane to weaken it before grabbing one of its tentacles and smashing the injured beast down to the ground, soaring up into the air and then descending upon it in a raging shockwave that sent shards of shell and tentacles flying across the plains.

A woman with carved metal armor, fierce white eyes, and flowing magenta hair surged across the battlefield, the symbols on her armor reading only "Scorned'' in a primordial language the Marine knew didn't appear in the Mortal Realm. She wielded a searing whipblade which constantly morphed into different weapons infused with elemental power: two flaming clawed gauntlets that ripped through the mob, a dazzling golden lance that shot shrieking lightning bolts, a roaring violet warhammer that broke the backs of Hell Knights beneath its crushing gravitational shockwaves, and a blue broadsword that split into dual scissorblades which trapped struck foes within time dilation fields.

"ROAH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!"

A Basilisk roared and charged at the Scorned with crackling maw open but she launched a tremendous lightning bolt into the demon's gullet to produce a ravaging explosion that shuddered the entire beast, leaping towards it with her warhammer and slamming the monster back with a thundering blast that cracked its shell. Yelling, she flew around the Basilisk's neck while extending her whipblade to great length and tied a razor-sharp noose around the monster's throat before pulling the whip and decapitating the serpentine monster.

A gleam of silver drew the Marine's attention to the right as a barbarian warrior in a loincloth, a steel breastplate over muscular tanned skin, and a platinum helm trailing long silver hair raced across the battlefield, hacking at demons with a heavy double-bladed ax and parrying their attacks with a deployable falcon shield while punched them back with spiked gauntlets, tossing small glyphed artifacts that exploded like hand grenades.

That hexed ax! Those heretic glyphs! That paladin's armor! The Marine recognized the figure from ancient Argenta legend!

The Champion of the Black Labyrinth!

A metallic ringing to his left grew louder as a another figure slid down a mountain, a slim blue robot with a single bright yellow eye, wielding a gleaming golden blade the Marine identified as Angelic in origin to flash-cut through a dozen demons at a time. It parried incoming projectiles away with swift punches before extending eight thin golden wings and slamming down onto the ground beside the ax-wielding barbarian as it manifested and drew two firearms from its wings.

The Champion and the Cyber Angel fought side-by-side and back-to-back as they fired shrieking bursts and attacks at the writhing horde. The paladin launched lightning bolts from a shimmering blue trident and emerald slashes from a silver sword while the robot fired a beam pistol and nailgun, flicking small golden coins into the air which the Champion fired at to split his lightning bolts across the horde. The Cyber Angel then drew a crackling blue rail cannon and tossed one final coin over a Mancubus and fired the rail shot at the coin, the shot perforating the monster and bouncing off the coin to strike it again and eviscerating the demon in an explosion of gore and flaming bile.

"Mind if I drop in?!" A familiar voice yelled from the plains, and the Marine turned to find the Exorcist he'd previously found in the Kadingir Sanctum warp in front of the defensive barriers with a golden crucifix shotgun and three blessed grenades in hand.

"Hey there, pal!" He yelled at the Marine with a smug grin across his face. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"ROOOAAARRR!"

POWW! POWW! BOOM! The Exorcist fired his crucifix shotgun to blast a Hell Knight, a Cacodemon, a Velcore into ashes and tossed the holy hand grenades which erupted in swirling torrents of blue Purefire. The horde swarmed towards him and he drew a deck of cards from his empty hand.

"Would you like to see a magic trick?"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The man flicked one card after another at the horde which exploded with thunderous blasts and vortexes, his coat billowing widely as the explosions ripped through the mob and banished demons away into roaring portals before he tossed other cards at the beings defending the Marine to reinforce their barriers.

Another warrior blasted across the plains, a man in a slim dark spacesuit with three electric blue lines across his visor and glowing crimson sigils warding against "the death in space." On his shoulder was a laser-guided plasma cutter not unlike the one in the Marine's arsenal, and on his wrist a buzzing plasma saw. Though his powersuit appeared to be specialized combat gear, the Spacer utilized weapons that seemed industrial in nature: a gravitational repulsor he used as a shotgun to splatter a Cacodemon into blue mincemeat, a hydrazine torch to incinerate a dozen imps, and a beam device that was nothing less than a handheld particle accelerator that blasted a scorched path of gore through the mob. The man used a gravity-field manipulator on his hand to cast demons away from the barriers surrounding the Marine and slam the ground with thunderous gravity shockwaves, combined with a time-dilation device on his other hand he used to slow down and dismember a Velcore limb from limb with his plasma cutter. The warrior then warped over to the hapless demon and stomped on its torso to crush it with one strike.

He was followed close behind by a soldier in a black military exosuit which vaguely resembled ancient Spartan armor, though this was cracked with heavy battle scars and smoldered with vivid Hellfire, a circular symbol resembling three intertwined '6's emblazoned on their chest. With a military assault rifle in hand, the Hellfire Spartan dropped a plasma grenade at his feet and leapt at the same moment of detonation to propel himself across the plains, energy shields over his armor activating as the soldier drew a crimson dual-bladed energy sword and ignobly stabbed a Hell Knight through the back with it. He then leapt onto the back of a Mancubus and dug their hand into their neck to command the monster and cause it to fire caustic bile and fireballs unto the demonic legions. Planting another plasma grenade beneath the Mancubus' armor, the Spartan activated a wrist-mounted grappleshot and hooked onto a soaring Shrike that passed overhead as the Mancubus beneath exploded, standing atop the flying demon and firing a notably alien plasma launcher at the horde below. He then brought the Shrike down and slid across the ground while firing an alien plasma repeater rifle at a Summoner to overload its shields before switching to its assault rifle to shred the demon apart. The soldier switched to an alien focus rifle that sliced the horde around with a hissing beam as a Mancubus' fireball soared towards him and the Spartan dropped to his knees with a brilliant energy field shimmering over his locked armor, protecting them from the projectile's blast as another warrior beside them flew towards the Mancubus.

The warrior was a strange one, resembling a red dragon-like humanoid with a horned reptilian head and large dragon-like wings it used to soar above the battlefield. Oddly enough, it seemed to be wearing an open leather jacket, jeans, and clawed combat boots, firing all sorts of firearms and magical attacks upon the monstrous legions while releasing a hoarse cruel laugh. An explosive autocannon, a golden dragon-shaped launcher, a gleaming blue railgun that liquidated the Mancubus with a single blast and launched the warrior back with the resounding shockwave. The dragonoid Guncaster launched lightning strikes, flame waves, explosive power orbs, descended upon the plains with outstretched fist like a fiery meteor to impact with a flaming shockwave before melting away thirty demons in a roaring stream of arcane scourgebreath.

The last warrior the Marine saw in his vicinity was a female humanoid in a dark biometallic exosuit, seemingly alien in origin. Sporting a bright red helm resembling an ancient hannya mask and translucent blue energy hair that floated around her, the warrior fired an explosive speargun before extending her ethereal razor-sharp hair and shredding fifty demons in a spinning maelstrom of death. She assumed a translucent ephemeral form to avoid a pack of Hell Knights and their hellfire slams, but produced two ethereal reflections of herself deploying energy blades and reassumed physical form to attack the demons, assuming a wisp-like form and vanishing into one of the Hell Knights. The demon roared and thrashed in resistance, but after a few moments it became possessed with an electric blue aura and savagely attacked its monstrous brethren, slashing at them with vastly enhanced claws and speed. After only a few seconds the pack of demons were dead and the biometallic warrior resurged from the Hell Knight in a burst of blood and bone. She turned upon her weakened target with blasts of a poison pistol before manifesting a blood-red arcane blade and somersaulting over the Hell Knight, slicing it in half from head to groin.

Dozens of other warriors had deployed from the fortress above and fought fiercely against the demons, but the horde appeared endless and pressed towards the felled Marine even as the many warriors pushed back.

A Baron of Hell slammed the ground and released a devastating blast that broke three of the defensive lines surrounding the Marine, killing several Hallowed warriors and sending many others flying as it and three Blood Knights advanced towards him. Four warriors in flying exosuits and two others in Ironsbane nanotech armor rushed towards the breach and fired energy blasts at the demons, but the Baron killed the four lancers with one strike while the Blood Knights attacked the Ironsbane guardians.

The Baron raised its hand to finish them off but the masked biometallic warrior flashed like a lightning bolt and screeched as she leapt onto and fiercely tore at the Baron's back. The remaining Hallowed regrouped and raised their defenses to seal the breach, but the other forces were occupied with the legions and Basilisk pack and couldn't assist. The Exorcist ran to their aid and flicked handfuls of cards at the demon lord which stuck and exploded as he fired his shotgun and threw holy grenades at the Blood Knights, reducing them to soggy red ashes while he dropped another card and erected a golden barrier before them. The Baron roared and savagely struck the Exorcist's defenses as it advanced towards the Marine, but by the cracking of the shield the Marine knew it wouldn't last long.

"STAND BACK!"

A roaring woman's voice thundered from above - in an old dialect he recognized as feudal Japanese - and he looked up to catch a fleeting black blur descend upon the battlefield directly atop the Baron of Hell. The ground cratered from the force of the impact and revealed a hooded figure with flowing black robes and a smooth horned mask, bearing a spiked mace directly atop the shredded pile of gore that once was the Baron of Hell. The woman was more than two meters tall, the mace was almost as tall as she was with two impossibly long curved swords hanging on her back.

"FALL BACK!"

At her command the entirety of the humanoid and alien warring forces retreated from the battlefield to around the barriers surrounding the Marine. The Basilisks, Stormbane, and Barons of Hell were dead, but a great many demons still remained and they all charged towards their ranks with bared fangs and reaching claws.

Taking a firm step forward, the robed commander swirled her mace in front of her and summoned a roaring hurricane to push the horde back. She slammed the mace on the ground in rhythmic attacks to produce devastating groundspike waves that spread far and wide in every direction, crushing and impaling any demon caught in their path. Assuming a wide stance, she raised her arms and shattered the surrounding planes in broiling fissures that many demons fell into before summoning monstrous waves of lava that washed away great swathes of the horde. She spun the mace around herself and manifested a multitude of spinning lava cones that rapidly hardened into smoldering semi-solid rock and fired them across the plains like rockets, striking strays and larger demons in an explosive barrage of rock and fire.

She bent and subjugated the entire Hellscape beneath her will, shaping the elements like clay beneath her fingers.

She leapt into the sky and raised her mace above her as the humanoid forces retreated within the barriers and the commander slammed down to release a raging firestorm that spread across and incinerated the entire Hellscape.

When all was done, the visible plains were barren and empty, scorched and cratered from the might of countless attacks, only ash and smoke remaining of the myriad legions that once crawled upon it.

The Marine's mind raced with a million questions.

Who were these warriors? Why were they helping him?

And how were they so strong?

"Hennya!" The commander addressed the biometallic warrior with ethereal blue hair. "Report!"

"Severe casualties, Warden," the figure responded with a synthetized voice.

Warden?

"We've suffered twenty-four percent loss of operational forces, and seventy-six percent of the survivors require medical attention."

"Contact the Jericho. Tell them to open an extraction gate.

Pick him up," she gestured at the crippled Marine. The Spacer and Spartan bent down and lifted the Marine off his broken feet, hoisting his arms around their shoulders as he grimaced in pain.

"And YOU…" The Warden pointed her mace at the Exorcist, who raised his hands at the threatening gesture. "...AREN'T supposed to be here."

"I was in the neighborhood," explained the man with a sly smile. "Just helping out my old friends."

"You are not affiliated with our forces.

The Imperator may tolerate your presence aboard the Jericho, but I do not tolerate it in MY operations."

Imperator?

"Tolera- I just saved all of your asses!"

"...hrrr…"

The forces around him immediately froze as something growled through the dust.

"Cancel the extraction order," the Warden whispered. "The area is not secure yet."

"You still want me to leave?"

"Silence!"

"...raaahh…"

Something giant scuttled past them on insect-like legs, and the warriors glanced to the side as a fleeting shadow rushed through the dust and smoke.

"What is that, good hunter?" A pale feminine cyborg with short white hair and orange-gray armor softly asked the warrior beside her, a man with tattered Victorian-era cloak and pointed cap who carried a saw cleaver and pistol in his hands and a Blood Moonlight Sword on his back. The man was impaled by dozens of dripping lances through his chest, but appeared unharmed from these and only had a wild frenzied look in his eyes.

"I'll tell you what it's not going to be soon," he responded with a sinister grin, a slimy black tongue passing over his lips. "Alive."

"...Hrrrraaaahh!"

The smoke dissipated with a howling gale and the warriors shielded their eyes as the Scorpion Abherrant revealed itself through the haze. A towering monstrosity almost fifty meters in height with a horrendously sagging face that contrasted sharply with its armored body, yet its gaping mouth was larger than the rest of its head and it stared at the troops with ravenous hunger. Its two eye sockets were empty pits of pure black malice.

The Marine heard a deep rumbling growing louder and looked up to find the dragonoid Guncaster assuming a monstrous form, rising into the air as flesh and sinew manifested from thin air and coalesced around the warrior to form a colossal red-and-black body with great wings and a long spiked tail, an ability the Marine recognized as the power of the Deadmaker. The Abherrant meanwhile took a deep howling breath and prepared to attack.

"AAAAARRRRRRGGGHHH!"

The Abherrant released a roaring torrent of Hellfire at the forces but the Deadmaker Guncaster spread its wings and blocked the flames with its own body, tanking the attack as the warriors behind it fell back or stayed put while assuming their own empowered forms.

The Destructor yelled as he produced four more metallic arms from his shoulders and the Scorned slammed her foot down and morphed into a flaming four-meter tall figure with twisted horns, wings, and great flamewhips extending from her arms. The pale cyborg stood back as the Victorian hunter fell to his knees with an echoing cackle and shed his human form to become a giant writhing entity of clawed arms and writhing black tentacles, climbing over the Guncaster and latching onto the Abherrant to bite at its neck and claw at its back. The Champion of the Black Labyrinth raised a Tome of Power above him and absorbed its essence to envelop himself in white flames and produce gleaming golden wings from his back with an echoing yell, joining the Greek warrior and others as they charged at the Abherrant with roaring battle cries.

The Champion drew a clawed weapon and cast blinding fireballs that thunderously exploded against the Abherrant like miniature suns as the Destructor aimed his six arms and fired howling beams to push the monster back. The Deadmaker Guncaster and Eldritch Hunter were not as large as the Abherrant yet they slammed the demon's face and bound tentacles around its neck while releasing flaming torrents that scorched its armor. The Greek warrior and Havoc Scorned grappled onto the Abherrant with their chains and whips, the Scorned prying away its armor plates as the Greek warrior hacked and slashed at the exposed flesh.

The Scorpion Abherrant roared and thrashed violently in an attempt to throw its attackers off, whipping the Deadmaker Guncaster and flying Champion away and grabbing the Eldritch Hunter's body and pulling it off to stab it with its scorpion tail, who howled as the serrated tip tore its flesh and spread corrupted scarlet veins. The Abherrant turned its horrendous face towards the group of warriors with a scarlet glow rising in its throat, and the Warden quickly raised a crystal barrier from the ground that appeared to be pure diamond before the Abherrant fired a hail of sharp thorny spines from its mouth, lacerating the ground and cracking the thick crystal.

But there appeared the red-and-white blur again. It darted fleetingly and gracefully between the hail of spines as it rose towards the Abherrant and released a brilliant flash that dispelled the projectiles and blinded the monster.

"It's not looking good!" Yelled the Black Knight at the Warden as the tip of the final spine cracked through the crystal barrier. "We need reinforcement or extraction now!"

"Lucky for all of you...!" Shouted the Exorcist as he pulled a final card, a white card with the symbol of a single red fist on it, "I have an ace up my sleeve!"

The Exorcist raised the card high which dissolved as a dazzling portal opened above the battlefield and a golden figure immediately descended from it like a lightning bolt, cracking the ground on impact and emitting a radiant golden light. Focusing through the glare, the Marine saw the figure stand up and reveal to be a man in monk's robes carrying a simple wooden staff, with yellow trousers, white cape, wooden sandals, and red hand wraps. The man was completely bald, and though his lean figure was trained, he gave no appearance of being a warrior or even a fighter. He had no aura indicative of higher power, and despite the grave threat he faced, his mellow posture and blank expression were of complete detached indifference.

Who- what- WHO IN THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THAT?!

Immediately upon his arrival, the Greek warrior and Scorned leapt off the Scorpion Abherrant, and the Deadmaker Guncaster and Eldritch Hunter lifted themselves from the rubble and began to shed their colossal forms. The tomed Champion equipped a violet scythe and slashed open a dimensional tear that immobilized the Abherrant, giving him time to shed his wings and join the Destructor in retreat.

A swirling blue gate manifested behind the warriors and the monk planted his staff on the ground without even looking back at them, taking a slow step toward the paralyzed Abherrant who tore one leg free of its restraints.

"Extraction gate opened! We leave now!" Yelled the Warden and the humanoid forces immediately rushed through. The pale cyborg gently grabbed the Sentry Bot and carried it through as the two soldiers lifting the Marine walked him towards the gate, but he struggled to keep sight of the monk as he nonchalantly approached the Abherrant who broke free of the Champion's rift. The towering monster roared and released a crimson torrent of Hellfire at the monk that scorched the landscape and howled with the torment of a thousand tortured souls, but the man calmly stood through the flames and made no reaction to the chaos around him, completely indifferent to and unharmed from an attack that would have killed even the Marine in moments.

Impossible.

The monk came to a halt as his right hand clenched into a fist, and the Marine felt the very air tremble as something changed in the man's eyes. He thrust his hands together, took a firm left step forward, right foot back, and reeled his right arm back in preparation to attack.

Then he punched.

The man's eyes changed to a fierce stare of determination and he clenched his teeth as his punch seemed to fly through the air in slow-motion. A thunderous shockwave shot from his fist through the air to dispel the Abherrant's flame breath and strike it in a blinding flash.

Then everything went silent.

As the dust cleared, the Marine saw the Hellscape was completely empty, a gaping straight path of devastation cleaving the ground and even the stormy sky all the way to the bleak horizon. Nothing remained of the Abherrant save pieces of its four twisted legs stabbed into the ground, the monk standing solemnly as bits of shell and gore rained around him. The demon had been almost entirely unharmed from the combined efforts of all six warriors, and yet the monk had killed it…

…with only one punch.

The Marine felt himself getting weaker. His hearing became muffled and his breathing rattled in his ears. The last thing he saw as he was carried through the extraction gate was the monk slowly turn around and meet his gaze, an empty yet understanding look on the man's face.

Impo…ssible…

The Lazarus facility blared and flashed in alarm, the red emergency lights the only illumination in those dark halls. Elena struggled to carry the unconscious mercenary as the ground shook beneath their feet.

"Warning: Refractor complex destabilized," spoke the facility voice. "All employees must evacuate immediately."

"Uhh…" Romero groaned on the scientist's shoulder as he groggily woke up. "M-miss? W…where are we?"

"We're leaving Lazarus. The Refractor is destroyed and the facility is collapsing behind us."

"Where is Taylor?"

"Ruby is…" Elena began to answer, but stopped herself as her heart achingly panged. "Agent Taylor stayed behind."

Romero lowered his head in understanding. "I see."

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The entire Lazarus compound shuddered as the Refractor facility below collapsed and exploded. The two survivors stopped for a moment as the tremors passed over them, but continued forward with grim expressions and heavy hearts.

"Rrrrraaaaahhhh!"

I plummeted and stuck the landing on a grated metal surface, immediately sensing the palpable difference in the reality I was in. The world I stood in felt much more stable, solid and free of the pervasive corruption that permeated the cursed realms of Hell.

I was back in my universe.

"I'm back. I'm back!

Colonel Johnson! You did it! We did it! I'm back!"

There was no response.

"Colonel Johnson?"

I received nothing from the Colonel, not a word or even the hissing static of attempted communication.

"Something's wrong. I have to keep moving."

Looking up, I found myself standing in a narrow industrial corridor similar to those common in extraterrestrial human colonies. There were no windows but the occasional wall panel and label written in English, Japanese, and Esperanto. In the corner of one panel displaying atmospheric toxicity levels I saw a date: October 2149. The date didn't mean anything to me, but it felt comforting to at least have something set and defined to hang onto.

Speaking of which, I was still hanging on to the two energized helical lances I pillaged from the Cybruiser's cannon on Deimos.

If I remember, I can install two more gun systems onto my weapon platforms. Can I do it without Colonel Johnson? Well, it's worth a try…

I tentatively raised both lances up to my shoulders and watched as the platforms automatically took them out of my hands and integrated them into their systems. I triggered the primary fire and released an alternating barrage of sizzling blue beams that left bright glowing holes in the wall.

"Ha ha! Bitchin'! Now for the alt fire…" POWW! "AAH!" After a brief cast a fired a single energized bolt from one of the Argent Lances that bounced off the wall and struck me directly in the chest, but this was blocked by my overshield at no damage and left me more surprised than harmed.

"Fuckin' hell, that one bounces…"

Sharply inhaling, I walked past a Mixom wall logo and headed into the facility.

The Marine stood on a barren desert plain in the middle of a howling sandstorm. The wind roared in his ears and the sand was too thick to see through, and he shielded his face with his hand as he attempted to gather his bearings.

There suddenly was a bright light through the dust, and he saw a still figure with a billowing cloak and golden halo behind their head staring at him through the sand.

"Who…are…you?"

The foreign words echoed in the Marine's mind, yet somehow, he felt as if the question wasn't made in expectation of an answer, but rather the question was meant for him to answer for himself.

Then he woke up.

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

He immediately grimaced as a burning wave of pain surged across his whole body, penetrating from his skin all the way to his very bones as he recoiled in a tub of fluid.

Wait a minute…fluid?! Tub?!

His eyes shot open as he painstakingly sat up and checked his surroundings in alarm, but found himself lying in a small empty chamber of carved stone. He sensed he was still in Hell, but the dark realm's corrosive nature felt almost non-existent, as if he was in a shielded pocket of realspace. There were candles around the room and small totems bearing his Mark, and a simple wooden door lay closed but unlocked on the far wall. The Praetor Suit and Sentry bot were nowhere to be seen.

The Marine was lying bare in a small tub full of translucent blue fluid which cast a shimmering glow throughout the room and the many injuries over his body, which showed signs of healing. Health elixir. There was something over his face. Reaching up and pulling it off, he found it to be a military helmet not unlike the one he'd once worn in Phobos. Steel gray casing and wide glass visor. He considered leaving it off but decided to keep it on.

He felt better than he'd been at the battle, but also exceedingly tired and weak. His wounds had stopped bleeding and his legs were stinted, but there was still a massive laceration over his chest which hurt much deeper than anything else.

He remembered the fight. The demon ambush upon arrival and the many strange warriors who'd descended from nowhere and defended him. The Exorcist, the Warden, the monk.

…

He needed to get out, he thought as he gripped the edge of the tub to stand up. He needed to recover the Praetor Suit and get back out-

He tried to stand up but his legs gave out and he loudly fell to his knees.

FUCK!

The door creaked and opened, and the Marine prepared for confrontation as two figures stepped through the doorway.

What in the…

"Ah, he's avake!" Joyfully spoke the first one, a strange woman with prim blonde hair, fair skin, strong German accent, and a white cloak over a slim carved suit of ivory. The other figure wore dark red robes and a veil over its face, and stood quietly behind like a servant.

The Marine immediately noticed the woman's subtle but peculiar features such as larger eye shape, prominent cheekbone placement, pointed ears, and slight metallic glint to her hair. And the craftsmanship of that ivory armor…it wasn't forged, it was grown.

She wasn't human, she was a Hyperborean, of an ancient hominid species that had been extinct on Earth for millenia.

She was a fucking Vril-ya.

"How do you feel?" The woman asked as she calmly approached the Marine. "You took a dreadful tumble out there in the vastes, you're lucky ve found you so soon!"

He was almost afraid to ask, but who's 've'?

"Oh! Forgive my manners!" The woman clasped her hands and lowered her head in respect. "My name is Valeria, and I've been assigned as your medic! It's an honor to finally meet ze Slayer of legend!"

He didn't have time for this, the Marine thought as he tried to climb back out the tub again. He needed to reach the Crucible!

"Oh, I vouldn't recommend that yet," the medic muttered in a softer tone as she placed an arm on his shoulder. "You've been grievously injured und are suffering severe emotional distress. I cannot in good conscience encourage you to leave until you're fully recovered."

Out of my way, the Marine callously thought as he swatted the woman's arm aside.

At once, the medic reached for the Marine's shoulders again but this time dug a finger into the space above his clavicle. It didn't break the skin, but the Marine immediately froze with a blinding white-hot pain radiating from the pressure point. The servant jolted in surprise.

"If you can't stand on your feet or even leave this room, do you really think you'll have a chance on ze vastes?!" She hissed with deadly restraint but released her grip, and the Marine rubbed his sore shoulder with rising fury.

How fucking DARE!

He tried to focus a Blood Punch and threw the attack at the Hyperborean, but his fist only weakly sputtered with faint red bolts and she effortlessly dodged the attack and struck another pressure point, and the Marine's arm limply slacked at his side. He appallingly stared at it.

That shouldn't be possible.

"You have no strength, you can't heal your vounds, you can't even fight back against me! How vill you fight against a Dread Baron or Herald of Sin?!"

The Marine was lost for a response when the medic suddenly darted forward and thrust him against the tub, claw-like hands pinning him to the stone.

"Make no mistake, Slayer. I am a combat medic.

I am vell-versed in ze treatment of injuries across many species, and in the actions that cause them.

I set all your bones in ten seconds, und I can break them again in five."

Under any other circumstance the Marine would have torn the jaws off of whatever being dared insult him, but apart from not having the strength, he recognized the Hyberborean was right. Never since becoming the Slayer had he been crippled like this, not even by the Five Heresiarchs and that cursed sarcophagus of theirs. Not even after both missions to Phobos. He'd never be able to recover the Crucible like this.

He dejectedly slumped back into the healing tub and the woman likewise backed off.

"My apologies," she softly spoke. "You've been through much und I understand your urgency, but you cannot possibly resume your mission in your present state.

Allow us to help you, und ve'll strive to make you vell as soon as possible."

Again, 'us' and 'we.' Who's 'we'?

"Don't worry," she assured him as she unfroze the Marine's arm and placed it within the elixir, urging him to lie down. "The universe vasn't destroyed last time you slept und Hell vill certainly still exist vhen you vake up."

That was a fucking comfort.

The medic grabbed his head and gently lowered him into the fluid.

"Velcome aboard the Jericho."

The Hyperborean stood up and left the room, followed close by the hooded servant. The wooden door opened and closed, and the Marine was alone.

He sighed and indifferently let his lungs fill with the healing potion. Even considering the atemporal nature of Hell, this was a huge fucking waste of time. He shouldn't be taking some R&R, he should be out on the wastes ripping and tearing! He was the fucking Doom Slayer!

…He was, right?

He brought his right hand over and examined its backside. Even through the shimmering fluid, the Marine could see the absence of the Slayer's Mark and could deduce that it was somehow associated with the loss- with the DULLING of his powers. But the Mark hadn't vanished when he was trapped in and drained by that prison tomb. What happened this time?

That Hyperborean, it said the universe hadn't been destroyed the last time he slept. Obviously, but why was he fixating on that? Did it mean, that even though he hadn't been present for countless ages, Hell hadn't taken over? And the other part, he had previously fought in Hell for untold eons more prior to his entrapment, and yet it still stood.

What difference had the Marine actually make?

Was it like the demons said, that all his efforts had been for nothing?

…

Of course not. The demons were just trying to get into his head. He was obviously projecting after Taylor's death, was all. Emotional transference was a common symptom of psychic linking, all he was feeling were her emotional echoes from before she died. He'd seen plenty of death before, he just needed to suck it up and get over it.

Make us pay, Marine.

Make us pay for what we've done.

Those were her last words. But what did they mean, and why couldn't he stop thinking about it? Was he actually…distraught?

…Oh fuck, he had a headache. He had an everythingache. He needed to rest and let the health elixir do its thing. He closed his eyes and focused on clearing his head.

Maybe a good night's sleep would do him a world of good.

"Miss, this is the third time we pass this lab. I think we're lost," Romero spoke.

"I'm sorry, I'm…" Elena struggled to find the words but these died in her throat. "I'm worried about Agent Taylor. She was fixed on fighting Betruger to let us evacuate, and that look in her eyes…

It's like she thought she wasn't coming back."

"I'm sure Agent Taylor knew…knows what she's doing.

Look, you're tired. Why don't you let me take point from now on?" Romero asked as walked over to a wall panel and checked the facility layout. He suddenly frowned and rubbed his eyes as if in a daze, and studied the map again while squinting.

"This map, it's…" He raised his hand in frustration as he shook his head. "I can't read this, this makes no sense."

Something metallic clattered in an adjacent hallway, and the two survivors jumped at the sudden noise.

"We're being followed, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"By who?"

"Demons. And something…something else."

Romero pursed his lips and grabbed the scientist's arm. "We've gotta keep moving. Stay behind me, I think I know a path."

"Agent Taylor knows the facility layout. She'll know how to navigate it when she comes back."

Romero closed his eyes and sighed, but said nothing.

Paved stone roads, spacious temples, buildings of marble, a strong mountainous scent of forest and life.

The Marine was back on Argent D'Nur.

But something was wrong. The sky darkened with smoke and the landscape cracked as embers wafted through the air. The horizon erupted in red and the world caught on fire.

The ground cracked at his feet and he began sinking into the fissure as clawing hands reached for him and pulled him down. Torn and decayed skeletons in Sentinel armor latched onto him as their empty eyes bored into his soul.

"...this is your fault…"

"...where were you when we needed you most…"

"...you abandoned us…"

"...you…failed…us…"

The Marine attempted to free himself, but the corpses swarmed over and grabbed onto him as they pinned his legs, his arms, his head.

Bony hands reached across his mouth and eyes and everything went black.

He dropped and fell onto a shallow pool. The corpses were gone, and he found himself kneeling in a body of water a few centimeters deep that spread as far as the eye could see, amidst a gloomy environment of dense swirling fog.

A dark figure stood some distance away in the gloom with its back to him, a fire ax in one hand and a Magnum in the other. The Marine recognized the space marine armor, dark skin, and short black hair. It was Osborne.

"You…"

A chill ran up the Marine's spine. That was Osborne's voice but it was distant. Harsh.

Hateful.

"You said we were brothers. That you'd always have my back, that you would cover me, and would never leave me behind.

But you did, didn't you?"

No…

The other marine turned around and faced him, revealing the sickly orange armor and the man's withered face, sunken fiery eyes glaring above a lipless skeletal mouth.

"You left me behind.

Left me to die.

Led me through the gate of Heaven just to leave me in Hell."

It wasn't like that!

"Do you know what it's like to hate, Marine? To feel as it slowly poisons your soul and turns your heart to stone?"

Osborne's armor cracked and fell apart into embers. The man's chest was consumed with dark twisted veins that throbbed with every beat of his sickly flaming heart.

"You turned me into this. You killed what remained of humanity in me, and replaced it with hatred.

So let me show you…how much I hate you."

Osborne ignited his ax with Hellfire, and the Marine opened his mouth in a silent scream as the soldier spun around and swung the ax at his neck.

AAAAAAHHH!

Everything flashed to red. The Marine's neck was whole once more and Osborne was gone, but the pool he still knelt in was surrounded by a roaring ring of fire. A woman stood in front of the blaze, her fiery red hair waving in the wind and her crimson eyes glaring through her shadow.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Ashford asked the Marine, who felt deeper terror in her presence now than he'd previously felt with Osborne. "They said society has laws, it has rules.

Don't steal, don't kill, don't do drugs. Don't bash your neighbor's head in, don't blow up an Allied Nations base.

Where were the rules the day my home turned to dust? When the great nations dropped their bombs and stole everything from us?"

Hearing an ominous dripping sound, the Marine looked down and found the dark red pool he knelt in wasn't water anymore.

"And yet, there's nothing to it. That's life. It's evolution, baby.

I don't blame you, Marine. I never did. I never blamed the world either.

A nuclear war that culls millions and poisons the Earth for centuries, a corporation sacrificing thousands of innocents to the demons, a soldier leaving his companions to die so he can fight in Hell.

Violence is in all of us. It's our nature. And who are we to deny our own nature?"

Ashford drew a recurve knife from her belt and pointed it at him, and the Marine's stomach sank.

"All I ever wanted was to be free."

To the Marine's great horror, Ashford suddenly turned the blade upon herself and stabbed herself in the chest with it. She laughed hysterically as she brought the knife down directly through her sternum, pulling it out and carving another curved gouge through her ribs. The Marine grit his teeth at the sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bone. Ashford reached out with her right hand and plunged it into her chest, pulling it back out moments later in a wide spray of blood.

"But what does freedom mean…

If I can't be as twisted as I want to be?"

In her hand was her still-beating heart, which she held aloft with a wild look in her eyes and a gleaming smile.

"You know what I really want?

I want to see the world burn."

There was a sudden flash behind Ashford, and the Marine ducked as the nuclear shockwave passed over him and reduced the world to ash.

When the Marine sat up again he found himself in an desolate Hellscape of scorched rock and roaring firestorms. Ashford was gone, but he knelt amidst the inferno in front of a single dark figure with a clawed left arm and single black horn.

No.

"Why did you kill me?"

No, no…

"Why did you end my life?"

He had to! She would have become a demon otherwise!

"I had hope in you," The mutated Elite Guard cried with tears in her eyes. "You could have saved me, you could have saved us all.

But you didn't.

Is taking life all you're capable of? Is that all you are?

A destroyer?"

The Marine stood agape at the figure's words when suddenly there was a shink sound, and he looked down to find a scarlet blade piercing through his chest. The Vorpal Sword that passed through his heart was the same one stabbing Ruby.

NO!

"BEGONE, APPARITION!"

Another voice suddenly thundered through the nightmare and dispelled the haunting illusion of the Elite Guard into dust. The scorched rock and firestorm were washed away to leave the Slayer in a howling desert with the same luminous entity in front of him, a golden halo and billowing white cloak behind it.

This entity wasn't an illusion, it was something else.

"My child…," it spoke in an echoing yet serene voice. "Forgive me. This path of perpetual torment you choose has taken you through much, and it is not done.

You must find the monk. He will give you the strength you need to carry on.

Seek out the Imperator. He is your ally, and you can trust him. Mark his words and heed his wisdom.

I cannot mend your broken heart, child, but I can grant you this."

The figure raised one arm towards the Marine, and he grimaced as his broken legs erupted in pain.

"Rise and take your first steps.

Your journey has only just begun."

"Slayer, I'm coming in," Valeria said as she opened the door and passed into the threshold. "I bring fresh health elixir- BY ZE IMPERATOR!"

The Marine was standing on his feet outside of the healing pool, cautiously walking as he gripped the tub's edge for safety.

"You're…you're valking! T-this is incredible! Your legs vere fractured in six places! There is no vay you could have recovered so rapidly!"

The Marine rested his hands on his knees. His legs still ached but they were healed. He might not be Rampaging through mountains soon but he was glad to walk again. But the rest of him…

"You're still covered in vounds," the Hyperborean observed in a low voice. "You've stopped bleeding but ze injuries haven't closed. Und that vound on your chest…"

The laceration over the Marine's heart still gaped and hurt deeply.

"I don't see signs of infection, but it vould be best for you to return to the pool-"

The Marine swatted the woman's arm aside, not harshly but with a notably sour glare.

"I suppose stretching your legs vould be a good idea.

Your injuries itch though, do they not? Allow me to bandage them to take the pain avay."

The Marine scowled but the medic snapped her fingers and her hooded servant stepped forward and wrapped white bandages over his limbs and torso. They were made of a strange pale fabric but numbed his injuries on contact.

There was something about the servant… The Marine kept a close eye on the veiled figure, but this kept its head lowered as it worked in silence.

"It's good that you can valk again. All aboard ze Jericho are talking about you, und I hear ze Imperator himself desires an audience vith you."

Imperator…Their king? He'd seen the strength these warriors exhibited on the wastes. To imagine a single entity powerful enough to govern them all…the Marine would have to be careful.

"Apparently he vishes to negotiate an alliance vith you, und discuss a replacement for your Praetor Sui- OOP!"

The Marine sharply turned his head but it was too late, and Valeria covered her mouth in shock. He pushed the servant away and calmly took a step towards the Hyperborean with a fixed gaze.

Where is my Praetor Suit?

The Hyperborean was several centimeters taller and physically superior to the average human, and although she'd already displayed her capacity over him in his weakened state, the Marine was still a full head taller and almost two hundred kilograms of pure muscle. At that moment, her only reactions to the over-two-meter-tall human bearing over her were silent terror and bright red anxiety.

Valeria backed up against the wall and the Marine slammed his hand beside the woman, cracking the thick stone with ease.

Where. Is. My Praetor Suit?

"It's, it's…z-ze Varden has confiscated it…"

BOOM!

With a solid punch the stone wall crumbled and the Marine stormed off into the torch-lit hallway beyond. His legs ached with every step and he couldn't run yet, but he walked at a brisk pace and a fuming expression as Valeria trailed behind.

"Slayer! You're still recovering! You shouldn't make heavy movements yet!"

The only heavy movement he was going to make was sticking his foot up something's ass!

Several humanoid and non-humanoid aliens glanced out adjacent doorways at the sudden commotion and yelled at the sight of a furious half-naked helmeted man covered in bandages storming towards them. A number of warriors - seemingly made of stone - manifested from the walls and converged upon him with drawn spears, but he swatted these Terracotta Soldiers away and smashed them against the walls. He searched for any signs and indications to a central place of governance when he spotted the large carved doors of a meeting hall. He frowned and headed in that direction, Valeria struggling to keep up with the amassing crowd behind him.

"Slayer! Slayer, VAIT!"

The Marine loudly kicked the doors open and stormed into the hall.

WHERE'S THE DEAD FUCKING ASSWIPE THAT TOOK MY GODDAMN SUIT?!

The wide chamber was empty apart from a large circular table in the center, around which sat the Warden, Greek warrior, Black Knight, Destructor, and Exorcist. They lacked their heavy armors and were surrounded by holograms, scrolls, and documents, but they still carried their basic weapons and stared at the indignant Marine with cool expressions of mild surprise and annoyance.

"We will continue this meeting later," the Warden calmly stated as she stood up. "As for you," she pointedly directed at the Exorcist, "I hope you're satisfied with the accorded bargain, as compensation for your recent involvement."

"Of course," remarked the suited man as he stood up and kept an eye on the scowling Marine. "It's always an honor to make business with the Imperator. Please send him my regards."

"You will honor him more by not showing your face here again," bluntly stated the Warden.

"Ha ha. Sayonara, ma'am." The Exorcist said with a mock bow, much to the commander's visible displeasure. "And take care, Slayer. Tough crowd here. Better watch your back."

The Exorcist spun on his heel and vanished with a sharp snap, leaving the Marine alone with the Warden and three warriors.

"You're very brave to barge into this hall so fiercely in your current state, Hellwalker.

Or very foolish."

The Marine frowned. The old titles flattered him nothing.

"Life on the Jericho has rules. It has laws. And as the overseer of this citadel, it is my job to see those laws followed-"

FUCK YOUR DAMN LAWS! GIVE ME BACK MY PRAETOR SUIT!

The Marine stormed forward and brought his fist down on the heavy stone table and smashed it. The holographic screens sputtered and died as rubble and documents fell onto the other warriors' laps. The Warden fell silent, but the other three squinted and calmly stood up as they approached him.

No one said a word, but the Marine kept his gaze on the three warriors pacing around him. The Black Knight lacked his power armor but still carried his monstrous blade on his back; his left arm was robotic and his single left eye glared at the Marine above the cape hanging from his neck. The Destructor scowled at him as he smashed his fists together to produce sparks.

Lastly, the Greek warrior released the blades bound to his arms and let them loudly trail on the ground behind him. He summoned them back and drew the ax on his back before placing the flat end on the Marine's chest in a challenge.

The Marine grit his teeth and clenched his fists.

YOU WANNA GO?

LET'S FUCKING GO-

"THAT'S ENOUGH! ALL OF YOU!" A strange alien voice suddenly shouted and made them all turn in surprise. "That includes you, Oathbreaker." The Greek warrior scowled at the Marine one last time but lowered his ax and backed away.

Pasty-ass bitch.

The Marine turned to find a pale humanoid creature emerging from the shadows behind the standing Warden, who crossed her arms. Its body appeared composed of bony white plates over red fleshy sinews, carved with strange symbols and holding a similar staff in its hand. Its head was crested and lacked a face apart from a jaw with small pointy teeth, having only a carved rune atop the smooth bony surface. The creature was shorter than all the others present and barely reached up to their chins.

"I am the High Priestess," it spoke in introduction to the Marine. "I speak for the Imperator and carry his full authority in his absence."

Where's your real Imperator?! Am I stuck with another theocratic cult worshiping another imaginary god-king?!

"The Imperator is a very busy man. He conducts his own missions across the Mortal and Immortal Realms, and single-handedly maintains the metaphysical defenses protecting and concealing this ship from the dangers of the outside.

There are thousands of souls aboard the Jericho, Hellwalker. The Imperator makes himself responsible for each and every one."

What the- fine, whatever.

But WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!

"What we've done is rescue you.

We found you in the middle of the Umbral Plains severely injured and critically impaired, and if it weren't for us, right now you would surely be in the thrall of the Fallen Hosts by now.

I can assure you we had nothing to do with your current affliction."

Well…WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PRAETOR SUIT?!

"If you wish to see your armor, we will gladly cooperate.

Warden, please escort our guest to his armor."

"Why me?"

"The Imperator would appreciate you being the one to guide the Hellwalker."

"...Very well."

"The rest of you, make yourselves productive.

Run reconnaissance or go cool off in the Arena."

The Black Knight stowed his sword and walked out the hall, but the other two raised their weapons again and vanished in bright flashes of flame.

The High Priestess turned to the Warden.

"We're approaching a Blood Storm. I'll tell the Helmsman to raise the shields and take us through to Mount Erebus."

The Warden nodded, and the High Priestess turned around and vanished into the shadows. The Marine scowled in confusion but the commander was already marching off towards the hall gate.

"Your armor is located in our forge and is being repaired by our blacksmith, someone who is familiar with its technology."

Repaired, not replaced. The Marine cast a sour glare at his Hyperborean medic standing at the doorway, who nervously flinched in response.

The commander led them through the gate and the three stepped out into the plaza beyond, crowded with all sorts of strange and exotic beings. Many of them were humans, from historical Earth societies known and unknown even to him. Several bore armor and weapons far more advanced than anything he'd seen yet on Earth, and he wondered if they'd been lost to the cosmos or were from the future. Besides humans, there were Verimor drones, Hallowed warriors, Sangheili, Turians, several alien species the Marine knew and many more he didn't. They even passed a Yautja. A disgraced Yautja, with its dreadlocks cut off.

But no Numila. The fourth nation of Corrax was not present, and neither were the Night Sentinels.

"We are the Forsworn.

Demon hunters that fight the Hellspawn in their own realm, without ties to god or man."

The Marine took a closer look at the many faces passing by. They were haggard, scarred, broken, with empty eyes and distant looks. Few even glanced at him, none gave him a second look.

"Many of these warriors were once heroes in their worlds, in their own times. They faced the legions of Hell with dignity and grace.

But they failed. Their worlds were overcome by the demons, and they fell into the Dark Realm to pursue the Hellspawn in their vengeance.

Something I imagine you would be familiar with."

The Marine grimaced at the statement but recognized the truth in the Warden's statement.

"At least most of them are," explained the commander as they entered a hospital ward full of alien medics attending to injured warriors. "Most of our warriors are what we call Apollyons. Immortal, cataclysmic forces of annihilation and agents of death that wield entire arsenals against endless legions. One-man-armies. Like you.

But we also search for estranged travelers and grant them shelter within this battleship, and offer sanctuary to any pilgrim journeying through this cursed realm.

You are not the only traveler to walk between dimensions," she added while facing the Marine, and he blinked in curiosity before the Warden turned away and bent down towards a haggard man.

"Wolf, you haven't touched your waters."

The man was dressed in tattered shinobi's robes with long unkempt hair and a fiery patch over his right eye, a drinking gourd lying beside him. The Warden grabbed the gourd and shook it, placing her other glowing hand beneath it as if infusing it with power.

"Please, drink this. It will calm your spirits."

The man looked up and met not the Warden's eyes, but the Marine's. Even through his empty gaze, the Marine could see the fires of Hell and the rivers of blood behind it. He also saw himself. The man knew who the Marine was, but it meant nothing to him.

The warrior didn't speak, but indifferently took the gourd with his right hand and drinked from it. He had no left forearm. The Warden sighed and stood back up.

The Marine grabbed her shoulder and questioningly gestured at the blonde medic behind him.

What the hell is a Vril-ya doing in a citadel with a predominantly human population? Their species almost exterminated our own.

"The Imperator cares not for dark pasts or dark minds aboard the Jericho." She explained as she led them past the ward and towards a transporter array on the far end. "Do not forget this is not the Mortal Realm, Hellwalker. This is Hell. Those who have the strength to brave its evil have already been touched by it. There are no innocents here.

We do not seek to absolve or redeem the lost souls that come into our protection, only to preserve what little humanity they have left. Every warrior we rescue is one less demon in the wastes."

By her tone, the Marine could tell the Warden would have preferred their "rescues" be executed instead, but she refrained from expressing so. The three stepped into the transporter ring which began glowing.

"You would not believe the kinds of demons that have risen since your time."

The transporter ring flashed and teleported the three to an empty array in a dim tall hall. The walls were punctuated by towering statues of faceless muscular humanoids, resting their arms on massive rifle-swords.

And this…Imperator. The Marine inquired as they walked past the statues, guessing they were figures of reverence or adoration. Who exactly is he? What is he?

"The Imperator is an enigma," the Warden answered truthfully, something the Marine didn't entirely expect. "He is my ally aboard the Jericho and he's entrusted me with coordinating our forces, but I owe him no loyalty.

The commander stopped her tongue, but the Marine could sense the thoughts storming in her head.

"...He almost resembles a dark lord.

Perhaps that's what he was meant to be in his world. I know little of where he comes from, but from what I've gathered, it was the heroes of his world that destroyed it before he ever arrived. He who was the one destined to destroy his people was the one who saved them.

I think he was once an ordinary man. A soldier perhaps, with a sense of duty and honor."

As the three neared the threshold of the forge, a red-hot glow filled the air and reverberating clangs echoed down the hall.

Is he an Apollyon too?

"...I believe he was."

An Apollyon turned Dark Lord. That couldn't possibly be good. The Marine would have pressed the Warden further but he dropped the conversation as they arrived at the forge.

It was not the type of forge he was expecting.

Strange alien machineries hammered relentlessly suspended above their heads, extending into the smoking darkness past what the eyes could see. There were no beings or life forms anywhere. The red glow came from a star-like core at the far end of the colossal chamber that was orbited by spinning machineries that harvested its energy.

…That actually was a micro-star, wasn't it?

But for this kind of technology, the blacksmith would have to be-

CRRRRRRR!

AAAAHHH!

The Marine flinched as a gigantic robotic hand descended towards him, but instead swerved towards one of the machines churning endlessly and changed its configurations as the "blacksmith" revealed itself. A colossal biometallic organism composed of endless polyhedral structures, optic sensors, and manipulator limbs churning, clicking, writhing in clockwork chaos, the char-black nanite units that composed its skin regularly pulsating and oscillating. It didn't walk but instead levitated through the air and darted back and forth across the constructs despite its massive size. It was the equivalent of an old person caked with dirt, their face barely visible behind wrinkles, an untidy beard, and mechanical goggles, muttering to no one as they tinkered endlessly with gadgets in their shaking hands.

A Verimor Crafter-Builder. And an old one, at that.

"Blacksmith!" Shouted the Warden. "We seek your audience!"

"WARDEN. ELEMENTAL WARDEN. FEUDAL LANDS. DEFENDER OF ORIENT." Grated the Blacksmith in a synthetic, distracted voice as it continued its configuring without looking down at the three humanoids. "EARTH. FIRE. AIR. WATER. NO METAL. ONLY FLESH. FLESH IS WEAK. SPIRIT IS STRONG."

"We seek your audience! We're here to ask about-!"

"MEDIC. HYPERBOREAN. VRIL-YA. EXTINCT SPECIES. HUNTED HUMANS. HUNTED BY HUMANS. FLED SURFACE. RETURNED TO SURFACE. PROMISED SALVATION. MASTER RACE. THIRD EMPIRE-"

"BLACKSMITH! The Hellwalker is here!"

The Verimor's many optic sensors immediately flicked towards them as the Blacksmith stopped in its tracks. It stooped down through the air and descended to meet the Marine at eye level. He ignored the dejected Valeria beside him and kept his gaze on the alien.

"HELLWALKER. KILLER OF GODS. SLAYER OF TITANS.

FLESH IS BROKEN. SPIRIT MORE BROKEN.

MARK IS GONE. FOCUS IS GONE.

PURPOSE IS GONE."

The Marine turned his hand over and scowled at the alien.

"...PRAETOR SUIT."

The Blacksmith made a series of mechanical chittering sounds as it brought two metallic coffins down towards them. Setting them down to levitate above the ground, the Verimor opened the first one to reveal the Praetor Suit, floating amid a crackling suspension field, and then opened the second which contained its recently collected arsenal.

Ohh, man.

The Praetor Suit was shattered into dozens of components, still seared and lacerated from his accident on the wastes. He took one fragment and turned it in his hands, studying the deep damage and complete inertness of the metal in his grip. The fragments appeared complete, but he hadn't known the Praetor Suit to be capable of such extensive damage, let alone be capable of returning from it.

"EMPYREAN STEEL. ARGENTA ALLOY. FORGED BY SENTINELS.

BUILT BY CORRAX. BLESSED BY HEAVEN. TEMPERED BY HELL."

"What can you tell us about this damage? Is it reversible?"

"SUIT REFLECTS BEARER. IMPRINTED BY. BOUND TO. CARRIES PAIN. CARRIES SINS.

SUIT NOT DESTROYED. DISASSEMBLED.

CAN REPAIR SUIT. CANNOT REPAIR BEARER."

The Warden turned to the Marine upon the final statement, but he wasn't paying attention. He was focused on the inactive Sentry Bot suspended in the second coffin. Its chassis was cracked and its legs broken, but it appeared mostly intact. He wanted to reach out to touch it but kept from doing so.

In its fractured state, the Suit was taller than he was. He glanced up to its helmet which appeared to be looking down on him.

Had he never realized…how much taller the Suit itself was than him?

The Marine stepped back and the Blacksmith sealed the sarcophagi again.

Whoa, wait wait!

The Marine quickly reached out and grabbed two firearms from the second sarcophagus, the combat shotgun and super shotgun. No way he was leaving without these, he thought as he turned around and proceeded towards the exit.

"PITY THE FLESHLINGS.

CAN REPAIR SHIP. BUILD ANYTHING.

CANNOT REPAIR HEARTS…"

With its final words echoing, the Verimor crafter took both coffins into the smoking shadows and vanished.

Exiting the Blacksmith's forge, the Marine stared at the Warden with faint intrigue.

Apart from when he led the Sentinels in his Unholy Crusade, he had never known of other demon hunters that chose to fight within Hell as he had, as strong and determined as he was. Not even the Verimor and Hallowed, the two most powerful Corrax nations, had been known to do that.

Wait. If they recruited warriors that had been lost within Hell and had the strength to survive it, could that mean…

He drew the Warden's attention and made a simple psychic inquiry.

"Valkyrie…the Dragonborn of Argent D'Nur? No, she is not with us. I've heard tell of her from survivors of your Corrax Alliance, but the Forsworn have not yet encountered her."

The Marine couldn't help but feel disappointed, though this was also tinged with relief. He knew Valkyrie would never abandon her home and just to enact her personal revenge across the Dark Realm.

She was better than him in that regard.

The two of them stepped into a different ring in the transporter array, followed close by his Vril-ya medic who'd remained silent thus far, and vanished in a flash of particles. They reappeared in a different hall that appeared close to his personal quarters. The wall torches were dimmed as if in nighttime, and the halls were empty.

But what about…

The Marine made another inquiry, this time with an air of uncertainty.

The Warden hesitated before responding. "...We have encountered a number of Umbral Witches since the fall of Argent D'Nur. Your nation banished them for embracing the Void, did they not?

The ones we found were already lost. The Void is a destructive force, Hellwalker. In some ways, moreso than that of Hell.

But these were only stragglers. Outcasts themselves for worshiping the Faceless Devil. If their coven still exists, I don't believe it's within Hell."

The Marine was entirely relieved to hear those news, but for peculiar reasons. The Umbral Witches had long held customs strange and heretical to Argenta tradition, moreso when Heaven arrived unto their world. He himself had no love for tradition and much less for those golden gods, but neither did he trust the black nothingness of the Void, or those strange pale Witches.

They arrived at his chamber.

"Get some rest, Hellwalker. Tomorrow, I will take you to one of our combat instructors. Perhaps some physical training will help you recover faster."

The Marine scowled at the thought but the Warden had already turned away and walked down the hall at a brisk pace, robes billowing behind her until she vanished.

Valeria waited until the Warden was gone before speaking up.

"Listen," she muttered in a low voice. "About vhat you heard at ze forge…I made mistakes vhen I vas younger. My people had history und culture dating hundreds of milennia, affirming our superiority to ze hominids that arose after us. Ve raised living cities of ivory und silk vhile your kind barely carved stone…"

The Marine rolled his eyes as the Vril-ya began divulging her life story when suddenly a flicker of color from the corner of his eye caught his attention. A red-and-white blur. He immediately flashed around and jogged in the direction the movement came from.

"Vait!" Valeria shouted as she raced behind him, seemingly oblivious to the blur. "It is not insult! It is history! You should know it! It vas a Hell invasion seventy thousand years in our past! It culled my people und almost eliminated yours!"

The Marine ignored the Hyperborean and raced after the red-and-white blur. He stopped at an intersection and broke a hard right.

"Our races competed for survival until your people gained ze edge ten thousand years ago! Ze Da'at Yichud! They built warships und suits of metal! Veapons that slaughtered our beasts und scorched our lands! They drove my people underground!"

The Marine couldn't give less of a flying fuck about the genocide between the Vril-ya and Da'at Yichud. That red-and-white blur he saw on the plains was on the ship and he was going to find it.

"I vas raised in a shelter that hadn't seen ze sun for generations! Ve vere starved! Sickly! Dying!

Vhen your Great Var came about and my shelter vas exposed, ve vere thrilled just to valk on the surface! Ve allied ourselves with ze Germans because it vas they who found us, und their sentiments mirrored our own!

They stole ze same Da'at Yichud relics that had once decimated my people, but used them as our allies!"

The Marine came to a dead halt at the frame of a doorway. Valeria ran up to him out of breath.

"It vas a mistake. My people vere wrong. I vas wrong.

Now the Vril-ya are no more, und I am ze last of my kind."

The Marine wasn't meeting her gaze. She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look at her.

"I can't change my people's past. I can't change my past.

Ze Varden doesn't understand. She follows a path that vas alvays carved out like stone. She makes no mistakes, und she doesn't believe in second chances.

But I do. I must. I must believe there is redemption.

Do you not believe in redemption, Slayer?"

The Marine stared at his Hyperborean medic. Her hair was disheveled, her face was flushed, and there were tears in her eyes.

What did she want him to tell her?

Valeria suddenly turned to face the chamber the Marine had stopped at and gasped in astonishment.

"Won't you come in?" Asked the bald monk from the plains as he sat in a meditative pose beside a small figure in traditional red-and-white shrine maiden robes. The two were surrounded by smoking incense and sat in front of a steaming teapot. "We were about to have tea."

"Master Van!" Exclaimed Valeria as she bowed her head in respect. "It's an honor to see you return to ze Jericho! I vasn't avare this vas your chamber!"

"Oh, it isn't," replied the monk with a warm smile, though the Marine could tell it was tinged with sadness. "I was just sharing tea with my friend Rei here. It's good to see you again, Frau Valeria.

…And who's this?"

"O-OH!" The Hyperborean jumped as she remembered the Marine standing beside her, motionless but confused at the entire spectacle. "T-this is…vell, he is-"

"The Doom Slayer."

The shrine maiden beside the monk coolly responded before sipping from a cup of tea, never taking her calm yet faintly bored expression off the Marine. She had brown eyes and dark brown hair that reached to her shoulders, adorned with two large red ribbons that resembled butterfly wings, and a short sword in a tasseled sheath hanging from her belt. He noticed she wasn't sitting on the ground but rather floating slightly above it.

"The Doom Slayer? I've heard so much about you. It's an honor to finally meet you."

The shrine maiden was young. Younger than any of the other Forsworn warriors he'd seen yet. She was only a child.

What in the actual fuck was a child doing in Hell?

"Ah, you're surprised?" Asked the monk as he sensed the Marine's confusion. "I'm afraid Hell's touch has spread farther than any of us would have hoped. More and more invasions are launched across worlds and time, and sometimes even the youngest of us must fight to survive.

I can assure you though, this one is tougher than she looks."

"I'll have you know that I am almost twenty."

The monk and medic burst in cheerful laughter but the Marine was not amused. Valeria glanced at her stern patient and her laughter quickly died. The monk followed suit but kept his smile.

"Please, have a seat. Would you care for some tea?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you!"

Valeria sat in front of Master Wan and took the offered steaming cup, and the Marine walked in too but quietly paced around the room, studying the three strange persons.

"I'm guessing your friend doesn't like tea, Frau Valeria?"

"Oh, he's just shy. Ve heard vhat you did on ze Umbral Plains, defeating that Scylla vith only vun punch. Not even ze Varden's High Three could do that."

"Oh, that? It was nothing. I was only paying back an old friend a favor. My days of fighting are over." Master Wan turned to the Marine and bowed his head. "I'm only a humble monk seeking peace and enlightenment."

The Marine sneered at the inane exchanges, still trying to decipher the whole situation. The monk wore no armor or wards, and had the Marine not seen him with his own two eyes, he would have never imagined the man capable of higher power. His eyes were joyful yet empty, of someone lost and adrift in life without purpose or meaning.

How?

How was he so strong?

"He doesn't have laser eyes, does he?" The monk nervously asked as he felt the Marine's stare burrowing into his smooth bald head.

"I think he's curious. Perhaps he vants to know ze secret of your power, seeing how you felled that Scylla so easily and vere immune to its attacks."

"Really? Well, it's somewhat hard to explain. I myself don't fully understand it.

Umm, situps. Pushups. Running…Strength training. You know, the usual."

The Marine's hands clenched into fists. Was this a fucking joke?!

Valeria's expression paled in alarm. "Master Van-!"

"Look," the monk explained as he raised a hand with utmost calm. "It's not just about training your body, but training your mind as well. Strength training will only take you so far, but it also teaches you discipline. Commitment, adherence to principle, and it bolsters your stamina and resistances, physical and mental as well.

The end goal is not to train your body," the monk said to the Marine with a cunning smile as he tapped his forehead, "but to train your mind.

Perhaps a change in mindset will lead you to greater strength."

The Marine's hands unclenched, and he frowned in confusion as he pondered the man's words.

A change in mindset? What did that mean?

"There is more to all of us than merely the strength of our bodies, Slayer, and part of realizing our full potential involves understanding who we are.

So, the question is: who are you?"

Who…am I?

The monk smirked and grabbed his staff while standing up.

"Please excuse me, but it's getting late and REI HERE must sleep!" He said tousling the shrine maiden's hair, who giggled at the monk's playfulness. "And I must pay my respects to the Imperator."

"Vill you be staying, Master Van?" Valeria asked as she stood up.

"I, suppose I could." The other two walked out the chamber, and the Marine followed as they shut the door behind them. "I'll stop here a few days before resuming my journey."

"Marvelous! Good night then, Master Van."

"Good night, Frau Valeria-"

The Marine grabbed the monk's shoulder before he could leave, who turned around in curiosity.

Who are you?

"Who am I? I'm no one."

The man grinned before raising a fist and gripping his forearm in a striking pose.

"I'm just a hero for fun."

…

Without another word the monk turned around, swinging his white cloak like a cape behind him and smugly walked off into the fortress.

"Grrroooh…"

Romero and Elena came to a creeping halt at the sudden sound. They faced left as two squelching feet shuffled through puddles and caught sight of a tall and thin shambling shape backlit by flying sparks.

"Grrroooaaahhh!"

"RUN!"

The feet shuffled faster toward them but the two survivors broke into a run and left the creature behind. They rushed blindly down the dim and labyrinthine Lazarus halls with groans echoing behind them until they turned a corner and found themselves face-to-face to another tall thin creature. Its sloughing red flesh appeared to be melting, it had no limbs other than two long and thin spikes for legs, and a small eyeless head hung at the end of a long flopping neck. Its wide mouth was lined with human teeth.

"AAAAAHHH!"

Romero rushed in front of Elena and kicked the Gaunt back which struggled to maintain its balance, but the monster recovered its footing and spat a fleshy red projectile at the two survivors.

"Aaahh!"

The projectile erupted in a burst of fleshy rinds and sharp teeth on impact, lacerating Romero's suit.

"Get back!"

POWW! POWW! POWW! The gunslinger drew his Power Colt and dropped the monster with two shots through the torso and one through the head, but a series of shuffling footsteps and rising groans indicated an entire pack of Gaunts shambling towards them.

"We have to go! Come on!" Romero urged Elena back as the monsters spat more fleshy globules at them and they raced deeper into the facility.

Shink!

A thorny barrier suddenly erupted from the ceiling and blocked their passage forward.

"What-?"

"This way! This way!"

Shink! Shink! Shink! Dark shrubs sprouted from the walls and floors around as they fled down the corridor. Romero swerved around these as his suit blocked what few hits he took, but Elena's sleeve got stuck on a thorny branch and she fell behind.

"AAAHH!" There was blood seeping into the white fabric.

"Miss!"

"Hiro, look out!"

A bright red spot was growing on the ceiling and as the two stared, a collection of vines and branches sprouted through the tiles in the shape of an upside-down humanoid figure. The entity itself was not luminous but it and the entire surrounding area reflected a sinister red glow without visible source, as if the very creature was stained with a cursed light.

The Brier turned its thorny empty eye sockets towards Elena and walked upside-down along the ceiling towards her.

"AAAHH!"

"Hey!"

Romero tossed something at the monster which was promptly struck by a forceful explosion, sending thorny branches flying throughout the hallway and releasing Elena's arm, but the creature remained alive. As Elena grabbed her injured arm, she saw Romero had tossed his second and final frag knife and was now drawing his katana as the Brier advanced towards him.

"Head towards the exit! I'll come find you!"

No…

"RUN!"

The Brier screeched and shot a thorny arm at the gunslinger but he ducked under the attack and rushed into the shadows, leading the monster away and leaving a terrified Elena behind.

Blub. Blub. Blub.

I entered a waste disposal installation filled with a sickly green glow, radiated from the pools and pipes of radioactive nukage being channeled through the processing facility. The complex was filled with the low rumble of machineries churning overhead, and I carefully walked by green barrels labeled with corrosive and radioactive hazard symbols.

"Raaaagh!"

"AAAHH!"

An imp crawled and leapt out from behind a support pillar which I vaporized with a single blast of my new Argent Lances, but checking my motion tracker I found several more imps and Lost Souls emerging from the shadows and vents on the ceiling. Sloshing footsteps on my right revealed themselves to be grotesquely swollen zombies wearing radsuits filled with nukage.

"Glad to see the welcome party!"

PEW PEW PEW PEW! PEW PEW PEW PEW! I released controlled beam bursts to eliminate the mob as I dashed around their projectiles and leapt above the bubbling pools of nukage. A flame wave skipped above a nukage reservoir to set the radsuit zombies on fire, and a fireball of my own detonated three close nukage barrels to contaminate and melt a pack of imps into screeching black sludge.

"Ha! Now that I'm out of Hell, this'll be a piece of ca-!"

"ENEMY SIGHTED." POW POW POW!

"Oh, fuck!"

A squad of robotic figures stormed into the chamber and opened fire on the demonic intruders and even me.

"Wait! Wait, stop!" I yelled as plasmoids and rifle fire erupted against my overshield. "I'm UAC! I'm human!"

The droids did not stop and upon closer look I realized they were not any type of robotic unit I was familiar with. The first kind were humanoid droids with reptilian heads and double jointed legs, with assault rifles in their clawed hands and blades sticking out of their elbows. The second type were large ant-like robots about the same size that crawled on all fours and channeled searing laser beams from their ocular units. And the third type were flying wasp-like robots with four sharp wings that fired plasma bolts from rifles mounted on their undersides.

They cut through the mob with keen, mechanical precision as the flying bots focused on me and broke my overshield with their plasma rifles.

"Oh, screw you then!"

I launched a volley of crystal daggers to shred the plasma bots swarming me and launched a fireball at the rifle bots pelting me from afar. The explosion faltered them and blasted portions of their chasses off, but they didn't catch fire and continued standing in their assault. Remembering my new Argent lances, I opened fire with these and promptly shredded the droids into crackling piles of scrap. I leapt and ducked under the hissing beams from the laser bots and charged the lances' secondary fire before releasing it.

POWW! "Whoa!" The energized bolt struck one laser bot and instantly shattered it before bouncing across the pack and destroying another six bots until finally fizzing out.

"Holy shit, this thing's broken as HELL!" But I was grinning like mad and fired another one, two, three seeker bolts that bounced across the droid pack and remaining demons to clear out the chamber in a matter of moments.

As the last droid head clattered onto the floor and powered down with a low whir, I began to hear a hissing transmission.

"...hsss…John."

"Whoa. Colonel Johnson?"

"...hssssss…JOHN…"

"Colonel Johnson, is that you?"

"...hsssst I'm here, John."

"Colonel, are you okay? You sound a bit…off."

"Clearer signal. Less interference. But it's good to have you here, John.

Welcome home."

"Colonel, I think I'm in trouble. I came across these robots but they seem to recognize me as a hostile.

This is a Mixom base. The UAC is not welcome here."

"John, we're both in dire circumstances. The situation has changed and I urgently need your help.

I need you to get to the surface as soon as possible."

"I'm on my way."

OWW! AAH-! OUCH!

"Stop moving!"

I'd stop moving if- OWW!

The Marine sat in a bed in the Jericho's busy hospital ward, painfully squirming as his Hyperborean medic attempted to stitch his wounds shut with an eerie thin gossamer strand.

"For ze Imperator's sake, Slayer! Have some dignity! A mighty varrior such as yourself und you're squirming like a child!"

Just because I'm strong doesn't mean it won't hurt- YEOWW!

The Marine jerked as Valeria passed the ivory needle through his shoulder and knocked it out of her hands.

A vein throbbed on the medic's temple as her composed expression wavered.

"Do you have any idea how precious this Hallowed Veaver silk is?" She frustratedly asked as she picked the needle up. "These stitches vill allow you full range of motion in physical training vith minimal risk of tearing! You should be grateful!"

Well, my compliments to the fucking Weaver that shit that silk ouWW!

"You know, I expected someone of your reputation to be far more mature and self-controlled than this."

And you're exactly the type of smug, self-satisfied cunt I expected of a Vril-yAAH! Fuck this shit!

He thrust the medic's arm off and rose to leave.

"HOLD STILL!"

With a split-second motion the Hyperborean jabbed the Marine's spine at the base of his neck and immediately brought him to the floor, fully conscious but his entire body below the neck numb and immobilized.

The Hyperborean released a smug, self-satisfied giggle. "Hmm-hmm. Doctor's orders."

At the snap of her fingers, the hooded servant beside her stepped forward and quickly picked up the seething Marine with soft groans of effort, propping him back up on the bed. With his entire body immobilized, all he could do was wince and sulk as his medic resumed stitching his wounds.

The caucacity of this bitch.

"I must say, I've met some foul tempers aboard ze Jericho, but yours is by far ze vorst."

I'm hurt, tired, crippled, and now humiliated! I have every right to be angry!

"Perhaps, but you don't need to be childish about it!"

Fuck you!

A hint of red sprouted on the medic's cheeks. "You know, in my culture, ve only had ONE expletive: Rhaich! Even our most vulgar seldom used it, but you are giving me good reason to!"

Yeah, well, rhaich you!

The Hyperborean tore the thread cut and stepped back in anger.

"Treating you is not NEARLY as much ze honor you might think it is!"

Stick a deutsch up your Motherland!

What little color the Hyperborean had drained her face.

"Is that an insult to my nationality, or vomanhood?!"

BOTH.

The medic's face turned a deep crimson color and her golden hair began to float and crackle as she grit her teeth.

"FUCK YOU!"

FUCK YOU!

"FUCK YOU!"

"Can the two of you fuck already so we can get this over with?" Groaned a new voice from the bed beside them. "My head's starting to hurt."

The two combatants turned to find a middle-aged man with a ragged military-green armor being treated by a Luminoth medic, gripping his temple in pain as even the tall and pale moth-like alien exhibited visible discomfort. Glancing around, the Marine found other patients and medics throughout the hospital ward displaying agitation and uneasiness.

"Yeah, I know you're not talking, big guy," the soldier continued, "but that energy you're radiating is practically screaming into all our heads.

Why don't the two of you find a room and work out whatever you've got going on?"

Valeria's hair returned to normal but her face remained flushed.

"What?! You can't possibly be sugges- NO! As if I'd ever have relations vith a BRUTE as foul and immature as this one!"

The Marine wasn't paying attention. In the absence of speech, he resorted to sparsely transmitting basic intent and impressions as a means to communicate, but he kept his mind an ironclad fortress completely impregnable to foreign incursion or exfiltration of inner notions. He kept his thoughts and feelings locked and suppressed deep inside where no one could reach them and they'd reach no one…or so he'd thought.

Was everyone aboard the ship reading him? Had he really lost so much composure?

"No offense, lady," spoke the grinning soldier, "but the tension between you two is thicker than a Mancubus' ass."

Valeria pursed her lips but said no more. Still flustered, she turned back to the Marine and resumed stitching his wounds. He winced but directed nothing else.

As the medic worked, he became increasingly aware of the warmth of the hooded servant propping him up, holding his head close to their shoulder and filling his nose with a peculiar scent. Aromatic, fragrant…like spices. There was a tear on the servant's robe exposing the supple red skin of a collarbone.

Soft. Inviting. Enticing.

The servant turned their head towards him and the shocked Marine immediately looked away, quietly appalled at the thoughts that had passed through his head.

"The name's Grimm, big guy. John Grimm," the soldier continued, thankfully unaware of the Marine's lapse in focus. "You don't look like one of these alien fellows. Where ya from?"

…Earth. I'm from Earth, though I just came back from a fucking sabbatical on Mars.

"No kiddin'! I just came out of Mars too! Ha!

Yeah, some shit was going down back there! This doctor Betruger turned into some huge cyber-dragon thing, and I came across this badass chick who took him on in a mech!

An Elite Guard, she was! Though she had a horn and claws, like she was turning into a demon! Bet she gave Betruger one HELL of a fight!"

The Marine's heart flashed with recognition. Elite Guard. Claws, horn, demon. He was talking about Taylor.

"Oh, you know her? Bitchin'! How is she?

Did she give Betruger the ass-kicking he needed? Is she here on this ship too?"

…Make us pay, Marine…

…Make us pay for what we've done…

The Marine shut his eyes as his heart ached again in recollection of her request, the Purefire, and her final moments still echoing in his soul.

Dead. She's dead.

Grimm's shoulder dropped and his expression darkened.

"Oh."

No one said a word after that. The Marine focused on the Forsworn warriors passing through the hospital ward, ignoring the servant beside him and the stinging of Valeria's needle, though the pain in his heart ached much deeper.

"I guess we all gotta go out sometime, huh?"

The Marine thought nothing but turned to look at Grimm.

"How did it happen? Did Betruger kill her? Did she...lose to her sickness?"

She was fatally injured. She felled the dragon, but was in danger of being overcome by her corruption. She asked me to put her out of her misery.

So I did.

"I see. Thank you."

The Marine looked up. For what?

"For helping her go out with dignity."

Are you fucking stupid? One can live with dignity. There's no dying with it.

"She faced death with dignity. She paid for her sins, and did right by herself and by others."

She fucking DIED!

"She made a difference.

There were people she cared about and she sacrificed herself to save them. They're alive because of what she did.

That's worth something. That's more than what most of us can hope to achieve."

The Marine didn't get it. He'd heard the same words before from the Night Sentinels, and he hadn't understood it then either.

What possible worth was there in death? One could thrive, one could fight, while alive. Death meant nothing. It brought an end to it all.

He scowled and glanced at Grimm as the man stood up, groaning as his Luminoth medic helped him refasten his dull green uniform.

What's with the get-up?

"Oh, this? Heh, it's kind of funny but, I requested my suit be painted in the colors of the Doom Marine.

You ever hear those old rumors about the Phobos Event? The first demon incursion on Mars back in 2046 that killed Phobos and sent Deimos to kingdom fuck? They say a lone Space Marine survived that. Just one man, nothing but his old suit and trusty double-barrel against the armies of Hell.

These alien fellows keep telling me legends about a Doom Slayer, an unstoppable demigod that can kill anything in the whole universe and makes all of Hell piss itself at the thought but…I don't know, just sounds a bit silly. Like something out of a comic book.

Call me old-fashioned but, I like the idea of an ordinary man fighting the armies of Hell just to survive. None of that fancy armor, high-tech weapons, or superpowers.

Just his wit, grit, own two arms, and good old-fashioned lead."

The Luminoth medic gestured towards the exit, and Grimm followed close behind.

"See ya later, big guy," he said patting the Marine on the shoulder. "And best of luck to the two of ya," he added to Valeria with a wink. She frowned but Grimm walked past and left.

"Vit and grit,'" the Hyperborean mocked as she cut the thread on the Marine's last stitch. "Got ze grit part right. Don't know about this 'vit' he vas talking about."

Get bent- AAH!

The medic suddenly jabbed the Marine at the base of his neck again and immediately unparalyzed him, sending him toppling through the servant's grip and onto the hard rocky floor.

"Ze stitches hold," she coolly added as she walked past him and toward the ward's exit. "You're ready for physical training."

The seething Marine picked himself from the ground and crudely snagged the green body armor offered by the servant that went along with his new helmet, khaki cargo pants, and armored boots. He fastened the armor and hoisted his shotguns onto his back before following after the medic.

The two walked in silence along the Jericho's hallways as they headed towards the fortress's training grounds, but the Marine couldn't stop thinking about Grimm's words.

Faced her death with dignity. Died with dignity. Had worth in her sacrifice.

Had she been…like Orinox?

The Slayer stood atop the gleaming silver skyline of the Verimor city-world. Resplendent towers and highways of virinium spanned out beneath him into the glowing azure core of the planet, the dawning ember sky filled with Verimor ships and flight-forms.

Behind him, the generals of the planetary armada conferred on the defensive strategies of that day's battle, a fight to hold the line of Urk-Vitel from the encroaching demonic fleet. They were a half dozen organisms floating behind him, eight-meter tall shimmering structures of abstract biometal conversing among themselves in their alien languages of quantum transmission, but he wasn't paying attention.

"Will you give us a minute?" A voice spoke behind him in English, but the Slayer didn't look back. The generals went silent but by the blue flashes and whooshing sounds behind him, the Slayer could tell they'd teleported away.

A giant metal foot stepped on the platform beside him. "Slayer, what's wrong? You haven't participated in this assembly at all. Is something the matter?" The synthesized metallic voice boomed above him, yet was unexpectedly emotive and agelessly patient in its tone. The Slayer made no response and kept his gaze fixated on the horizon.

"My friend, even with your armor and that impassive stoicism, I can tell something is troubling you.

Please, is it about today's battle?"

The Verimor gestured towards the Slayer but he looked away, unable to look the alien in the eye.

"It's not the battle. Not quite. You're upset because of me.

…Ah, I see. This is the battle where I perish, is it not?" The alien asked, still endlessly calm.

The Slayer sighed and painfully closed his eyes.

"You didn't come this time to coordinate defenses. You came to warn me.

To hope I would turn back and save my own life."

Every time. No matter how many times he returned to this world, he could not convince the Verimor to forsake this one battle, and he could not prevent the fate that awaited him. The alien silently stepped forward on the platform in front of the Slayer, who raised his gaze to behold the figure of Orinox the Dauntless.

The Verimor was a ten meter tall figure that had taken a humanoid form in the Slayer's presence. His body was a brilliant structure of silver, red, and blue, his head crowned by two antennae on either side and a crest on the forehead. His lower face was flanked by a retractable mouthplate and his eyes were two pools of sapphire starlight. He set the Crucible of Heroes on the ground in front of him - in his hands taken the form of a Cosmic Spear almost as tall as he was - and stood before the golden horizon.

"My people's history is a troubled one, drenched in the blood of countless civil wars. Father fighting son, brother fighting brother.

It's been long since last I was a humble archivist, and still I stand here and ask myself, was it all worth it? Was all that sacrifice truly necessary for our victory?"

The Slayer looked up at Orinox's face, almost obscured by the Verimor's back to him. His eyes had the ageless wisdom of a philosopher and the strength of a righteous hero, but there was also a sadness in them. A longing perhaps, for a life lost that could never be recovered.

"I always knew this day would come. I wonder what it's like, to rest and never wake again.

Will they be well when I'm gone? Will they walk paths of honor and justice?

Will they remember me?

There's a thin line between being a hero and being a memory, is there not?" Orinox turned towards the Slayer, who averted his gaze. The Verimor smiled and faced the horizon again.

"I am afraid, but not for them. I have faith in them and know they will lead virtuous lives.

And they will live, because I will fight today. Because without sacrifice, there can be no victory.

It's been an honor to fight by your side, Slayer. Please, take care of them when I am gone."

FWOO-BOOM!

The dawning sky beside the planet's moon erupted like a horrid scarlet wound and bled forth the fleet of invading demonic ships, but the planet was prepared. A resplendent energy shield sealed throughout the atmosphere as the orbiting battle-moon ignited and colossal accelerator cannons the size of skyscrapers rose on the planet's surface. Orinox's mouthplate sealed and he raised the Cosmic Spear to release a howling torrent of primordial power that ignited the world in its crimson glow and decimated a third of the invading fleet with a single blast, their infernal blaze smothered under the Crucible's power.

"Come, my friend!" Orinox shouted as the platform beneath their feet settled and the battleship they stood on set course for the dimensional breach. Countless fighter ships and flight-forms rose through the air around them as the two ran along the ship's surface. "Destiny awaits! Let's not keep her waiting!"

Even within his cold jaded heart, the Slayer could feel the flicker of a long-forgotten flame. The Verimor was the one about to die, and yet, the Slayer would have laid down his life for him. Few beings could ever claim that honor.

Orinox was the first and best of them all. A leader. A champion. A hero.

The alien suddenly leapt off the surface of the battleship and re-emerged moments later riding the back of a viri-dragon. He was followed by ships and fighters from all factions of Verimor society, once enemies now united in common cause to defend their home.

"VERIMOR, WE CHARGE TOGETHER!"

The Slayer grit his teeth as the first Basilisks began emerging from the breach and he drew his ancient super shotgun, the Retribution, already blazing with golden Purefire.

"NOW ROLL OUT!"

The Marine walked heavily down the torch-lit halls of the Forsworn's Jericho as they neared the training grounds, still hearing Orinox's powerful words echo in his heart. Orinox faced death with dignity, Taylor faced death with dignity.

Had it been so long since he'd last been mortal, that he'd forgotten what it was like to be one?

Death…is what gave life value. It's what gave life meaning.

Orinox had saved his people by laying down his life. Taylor had saved her loved ones by laying down her life.

Even with his immortality and agelessness, what had he accomplished? What did he even fight for?

Valeria interrupted his introspection. "Ve're here."

The two stepped into a large gladiatorial arena filled with dirt scuffed by countless footsteps and marks of battle, with various doorways throughout the outer wall and the colossal corpses of skeletal beings arching overhead. The Marine's jaw dropped.

"Ze Vadrigar," explained Valeria. "Aka ze Star Gods. A race of barbarous aliens born from ze Old Gods, ze pantheon of cosmic entities that haunt our universe. Ze Imperator slayed them and took their battle fortress for his own.

Their Arena Eternal became ze foundation of ze Jericho, and ze Vadrigars' prisoners that ze Imperator liberated became ze first Forsworn."

Vadrigar? The Marine had never heard of any such species before, but by the size and lingering power of the corpses that still watched over the Arena…the Imperator must be incredibly powerful. There was a familiar tinge to their power too, that the Marine couldn't quite identify.

There were three figures waiting for them at the center of the Arena. As they approached, the Marine found them to be the Warden and warrior monk standing beside a floating empty suit of black armor.

"It's customary among the Forsworn to wear armor even on the Jericho," began the Warden, "and to wear a helmet or mask to conceal not just one's identity, but one's shame and past as well."

The commander gestured to the armor.

"In the absence of your Praetor Suit, the Imperator has ordered this Deathpyre Armor built for you. As your inner flame burns brighter, it grows stronger."

The Marine stared with contempt at the military-style power armor in front of him. It had a similar build to the Praetor Suit and was forged out of char-black virinium, the same cosmic metal that comprised the bodies and technology of the Verimor race. The ideal form of matter in the universe. Self-repairing, programmable, indestructible. It had sinister spikes emerging from the shoulders and forearms, claws on the boots, and three horns rising from the top of the helmet. There were no visible weapons or implements, but the Slayer knew that the virinium could be freely reconfigured to create any possible weapon or tool he could imagine.

What a load of bullshit!

The Warden frowned with faint surprise. "You don't seem to understand. This Armor will amplify your strength a thousand-fold with your current affliction. "

DO YOU REALLY THINK I NEED A CRUTCH?

"You will not be able to fight without it!" The Warden retaliated at the Marine's refusal but the warrior monk clenched his hands in respect and stepped forward.

"Honorable Warden, I think the Slayer wishes to recover his strength by his own effort. He believes power armor would undermine his recovery and wishes to prove himself without it.

Perhaps it would be wise to consider his own judgment."

The Warden contemplated for a few moments but sighed and backed down.

"Doing a favor to the ingrate is the same as insulting him." She raised her hand and the Deathpyre Armor became enveloped in flames before warping away and vanishing.

Good riddance. If that's the type of condescension the Marine could expect from these people, he'd rather just fight with his current basic armor.

"Though you'll need it. The trainer assigned to you is not as forgiving as I am.

In fact, you already know her. I believe she was once your military instructor on Mars."

Who the f- Ashford? Ashford wasn't his fucking instructor! Ashford couldn't instruct a pack of rats to-

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The Marine's blood immediately turned to ice, the heavy footsteps sending shivers of recognition up his spine.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It wasn't Ashford. It was worse.

So much worse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The Marine turned around and watched with silent terror as the towering figure limped through the gate. Ancient and battered green Space Marine armor, three meters of bulging musculature that put a Hell Knight to shame, graying brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, and a single piercing right eye glaring at him beside a grisly scar over a shut left eye. The aging woman's face was weathered and wrinkled, yet hadn't lost that callous frown or ruthless expression that had driven countless marines to whimpering fits of tears.

The Marine anxiously grit his teeth as the gigantic behemoth of a woman stopped in front of him and pointed a veiny hand at him.

"You…look like shit." Lieutenant Typhon growled with a voice like grinding gravel, pulling a cigar from her belt and chomping on it before lighting it with a single flaming snap of her fingers.

Romero rushed through the Lazarus corridors with the Brier hot on his trail. Thorny branches erupted around him and scratched at his suit while he attempted to lose the uncanny demon stained with that cursed red light, but suddenly a barrier of thick spiny bushes sprouted from the ground, blocking his escape from the Brier. He turned around and fired several shots from his Power Colt, but most of the rounds passed through the spongy demon and what few hit only nicked at its branches.

The mercenary grunted and drew his sword before charging at the monster. He yelled and ducked under a swinging arm as he slashed at the upside-down demon, hacking off limbs and branches that fell to the ground and twitched before laying still. The Brier then retracted into itself and erupted in a maelstrom of thorny limbs, retracting the spiny barrier to regenerate itself. One of these thorny branches struck Romero in his stomach and he screamed as the attack threw him back and impaled him against the wall.

He looked up to find thorny branches shooting towards him and in a split-second he thrust his arm into the limb and tore it off of himself before ducking underneath the attacks. His stomach and arm quickly healed thanks to the Megahealth he'd consumed previously, but his armor remained breached and his blood stained the floor.

He needed a change of strategy. The monster was most dangerous at close range and yet his sword was the only effective weapon against it. He then spotted the red barrel at the far end of the corridor, and had an idea.

Clutching his pained stomach, Romero rushed towards the Brier and drew out its thorny branches before swerving hard to the right and sliding past the demon. The monster jerked around in confusion but Romero was already bolting down the hallway towards the red barrel. The Brier retracted its branches and chased after the gunslinger, launching thorny limbs against the walls and floor in an effort to impale him.

He continued towards the barrel and had almost reached it when suddenly a sharp pain erupted in his ankle and he tripped to knock the barrel away from him, his foot struck by one of the Brier's branches. The demon retracted its limb and advanced towards him upside-down on the ceiling while the gunslinger desperately crawled along the ground towards the barrel. He reached it as the demon raised its limbs for the finishing attack but Romero rolled the barrel towards the Brier and aimed his Power Colt before firing it.

BOOM!

Romero shielded his face from the shockwave that threw him across the floor past littered equipment and broken glass. He brought his arms down to find a charred black spot on the corridor ahead of him and a few twitching spiny branches, the cursed red light draining from them until they finally lay still and turned to ash.

Picking himself off the ground, Romero painfully limped and but gradually broke into a run, the Megahealth healing his injuries as he focused to return to Elena.

The biotech scientist timidly walked down the dim labs.

She had seen her team diminish one by one. Reeves was dead. Rogers was dead. Ruby had stayed behind, and now Hiro was gone too.

But Ruby had to come back. Elena knew it. She knew the Elite Guard wouldn't leave her behind.

But she couldn't sense anyone. Not Ruby, not Hiro, not even those monsters or the soldiers without faces. She was all alone.

"Hello?!" She called into the empty halls, hearing only the sounds of flying sparks and her own voice echoing across the cold walls. "Is anyone there?

Ruby? Hiro? Can you hear me?"

"...Help!"

Elena stopped, unsure if she had hallucinated it.

"...Help me!"

It was real. A man's voice, calling out to her. She walked faster then ran, still not believing that there could be another survivor trapped inside the cursed halls of Lazarus. She hurried past gouge and stab marks on the ground in the direction of the voice.

"Hold on, I'm coming!"

"Someone help me!"

There was someone, she could sense it! Not a monster but an actual person! She turned the corner and found the man with his back to her, limping as he grabbed his shoulder. The man was wearing a lab coat and was hunched so she couldn't see his face.

"...I don't want to die…"

"Sir?" Elena asked as she approached. "Are you injured?"

The man softly weeped. "...please…don't kill me…"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Elena assured.

The man stopped limping and slowly turned towards Elena, revealing a blank ceramic face with empty eyeholes and a mouth lined by many tiny teeth. "I don't want TO DIE."

Elena's eyes widened and she froze in place, but the man was already tearing off his lab coat as his body elongated and morphed into a horrific quadrupedal monster with long sharp limbs, his segmented ceramic shell connected by sinewy red cables. Even the human-like aura dispelled to leave only the chilling presence of a demon.

"AAAAHHH!" The Liminal Mimic shrieked with a man's deathly scream and Elena turned around and raced away into Lazarus, the monster's metallic footsteps clanging behind her. The Mimic was faster than her and she barely managed to duck beneath its razor-sharp limb that hissed through the air as she broke a hard left around a corner, and the monster stumbled across the walls to chase after her, screaming all the while.

"NOOO! GOD, AAAHHH! HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE, HELP MEEEEE!"

Elena grit her teeth as she ran faster from the clanging footsteps and the blood-curdling screams of a man being torn apart. As the screams devolved into gurgling sounds and muffled groans, the scientist turned right and then turned right again into a nearby adjacent corridor, pressing herself to the wall and concealing her presence. The Liminal Mimic's footsteps rushed by and soon faded into silence.

Elena covered her mouth and sank to the floor, her eyes stinging as tears began to flow and she struggled to muffle her soft cries.

Where is Agent Taylor? I'd give anything for Agent Taylor to be here…

"Hello?" A voice called out from the darkness. "Is anyone there?"

Elena's breathing hastened when she realized the distorted voice calling from the shadows was her own.

"Ruby? Hiro? Can you hear me?"

Slow metallic footsteps clanged closer to her position, and she began to hyperventilate as the Mimic's upside-down head turned the corner.

"...hold on…I'm coming…"

The demon walked eerily slow as it approached and stopped in front of Elena, yet sinuously moved its head around as if it couldn't spot her.

"Sir?...Are you injured?"

Elena quietly brought her legs closer to her and away from the demon's tiptoeing feet, which snaked its head in a manner as if it was sniffing the air. A glassy camera appeared behind one of the empty eyeholes and glanced across the space Elena sat in, yet unfocused and without seeing anything. Writhing red tendrils emerged from the monster's other eyehole as it brought its face centimeters from Elena's own, and she bit her tongue and held her breath to stop herself from screaming.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Elena tasted blood in her mouth and a single tear rolled down her cheek. One of the monster's tendrils gently lapped it and brought it to its mouth, and the glassy camera finally focused on her face as the demon brought itself to full height and raised a gleaming spear-like limb.

"I'M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU."

"AAAAHH!"

"MISS, LOOK OUT!"

Romero leapt out of the shadows and tackled the monster to knock it to the floor, rising to his knee and drawing his pistol. POW! POW! POW! The bullets shattered against the roaring monster's shell as it regained its footing and chased after him, but the gunslinger had already drawn his katana. Shink! Shink! The sword glanced against the armor but Romero changed his target and sliced off the tip of an arm spike, the severed purple cables writhing and dripping black fluid.

"GET AWAY FROM HERE! RUN!"

"Get away from here! Run!"

The Liminal Mimic stabbed at Romero and he slid under the arching monster, this stabbing at the ground repeatedly with its spider-like limbs, but he slashed upward and sliced off the other arm at the shoulder. The monster stumbled on its face and Romero took the opportunity to climb onto its back.

"RAAAGGHH!" Slam! Slam! It crashed back and forth across the walls as it attempted to shake him off, but the gunslinger gripped tightly with both legs as he hacked at the back of the creature's head, the thin armor already cracking beneath his sword attacks. The monster then rose to its full height and slammed Hiro against the ceiling to break his grip and drop him to the ground, stabbing his arm at the elbow with its leg to release the sword from his grip.

"AAAHH!"

"AAAHH!"

The Liminal Mimic raised its foot and aimed it over the mercenary's face, but a luminous wave suddenly shot from nowhere and slammed the demon to the wall. Romero picked himself up to find a fearful Elena look away before channeling another energy wave and pinning the roaring demon to the wall. The gunslinger grabbed his sword and slid forward to slice the demon in half at the waist, bringing his sword around and stabbing it down and through the back of its head. The Mimic made a gurgling sound before falling limp, black fluid pouring from its mouth.

Groaning, Romero picked himself up and withdrew his katana as he grabbed his injured right arm.

"That...was my good arm."

He cracked a weak smile, but Elena's eyes quivered fearfully and she slid back down against the wall. Romero limped towards her, blood dripping from his fingers, and heavily slumped beside her.

"It's no use…we won't get anywhere without Agent Taylor. If only she was here…"

Romero hesitated before responding. "Miss, I think we have to face the reality-"

"We have to wait!" Elena pleadingly looked at him. "We have to wait for her here! Once she comes back, everything will be okay!"

Romero looked sadly at her, but he painfully coughed and settled into a more comfortable position.

"Sure. Ugh, let's rest here. Let's…stop for a minute.

We'll wait for Agent Taylor to come back."

Warmth. Pleasant, blissful warmth.

The Marine floated weightlessly in the golden bliss of a dream, and he could feel someone else at his side. A woman with long brown hair and kind eyes, holding him by the hand as she smiled at him. A dream so pure he could cry. His heart was full of love and all he knew was peace-

He woke up.

He jerked up from the bed in his chamber of the Forsworn's battleship, groaning as the day's unforgiving physical training and his aching injuries washed over him once more. It was dark and he was all alone. He tried to hold on to the feeling a moment longer, but she was long gone.

Despite the heated ship interior and the unforgiving fires of Hell, he had never felt colder.

This woman he kept dreaming about, who was she? She had returned to his memory ever since the Black Pyramid of Kadingir, but he didn't know anything about her or who she once was, only that she must have been someone dear to him.

Had she ever even lived, or was she just a haunting dream? She couldn't be, he felt he had thought of her before. He must have. He'd dreamed about someone even in that cell way back before '64. Someone killed by demons, her head on a pike as the cities of Earth burned…

Had that been a dream too?

The Marine grimaced and hugged his legs tightly to his own body. He was cold. He was so very cold. He sighed and rested his head on his knees.

What kind of person did he use to be? He couldn't remember much of his life prior to being stationed on Mars or even before becoming the Slayer. Before Hell.

Had he been a kind person? Someone wise? Humorous? With an affinity for life? Or had he been cruel? Cold and distant? Quick to anger? Violent?

He wondered which of the many emotions passing through him were his real self. Rage, pain, hatred, loneliness, desire. Which was he suppressing, which was he letting through. Which had he allowed to define him, which had he forgotten.

This wasn't him. The Slayer was never meant to be someone sentimental. He shouldn't have to feel these feelings, he should worry only about killing demons and nothing else. Why couldn't he have stayed a cold-hearted killing machine? The Forsworn weren't sentimental, demons weren't weighed down by feelings, why was he? They couldn't know. No one could know how he was feeling. He needed to appear strong and stoic to the Forsworn. Unwavering and unbreakable.

Ugh. He didn't even know who he was anymore. He didn't know what he was. Not a soldier, not a man, not a demon, angel, devil, or god. He didn't know what he was supposed to be.

All he knew himself to be was a destroyer.

The Slayer marched along a traced path down a vibrant forest. The place was Japan, the era sometime in that nation's bloody feudal period. He had configured the Praetor Suit to resemble a samurai's armor to reduce suspicion, but kept a shotgun in hand for reassurance. He had arrived at that place and time to hunt down a demon lord that had escaped his reach in Hell.

Little did he know, that would be the one and only time he would set foot in those lands.

A soft fleeting melody and the sounds of running water floated on the wind as he arrived at an arching wooden bridge, crossing a churning stream and flanked by pink blossom trees. A figure with flowing green robes and a wide straw hat sat by the side of the grove peacefully playing a flute. He continued forward but made no reaction.

"Greetings, good sir," the figure saluted him in its native language, looking up to reveal the face of a woman. She had startling green eyes the color of emeralds and a warm expression, though with the rough and tanned face of a peasant. "These sakura trees are lovely, aren't they? They only bloom once a year. Such brief yet everlasting beauty must be treasured.

It's a long way from the Lord's estate. They say a demon lord haunts the lands ahead. For your health, good sir, you should consider turning back. The lands ahead are no place for a samurai without a master."

…They're just fucking trees.

The Slayer continued across the bridge, keenly aware that the flute's melody did not continue.

As he arrived at the midpoint of the bridge, he could see the woman standing on the other end but she had drastically changed. At her full height she stood ten centimeters taller than him, no longer wearing the straw hat but a gleaming golden crest and holding two golden war fans in her hands, with two impossibly long swords hanging from her back. Her face now bore bright white-and-red war paint and was as cold and unyielding as an icy mountain.

"Hellwalker," she declared in firm and perfect English.

Oh, for fuck's-

"You are not welcome here. These lands are under MY protection, not yours. I am aware of the evil spirit that has arrived and I will handle it accordingly.

Turn back now and return from whence you came, and I will allow you to leave with your dignity."

The Slayer scowled. He and he alone opposed the demons. Whoever opposed HIM was surely in league with Hell. He did not have time for every single individual corrupted by the Dark Realm, but surely he could teach this nobody a thing or two about "dignity."

He took a single step forward and the woman thrust her fans forward to release a howling gale that unexpectedly threw the Slayer back across the bridge. He grit his teeth and fired his shotgun at the woman but she leapt and darted out of his attacks' paths, using light and nimble movements to dash across air currents and manipulating the wind to carry her as if she was flying. She spun around in mid-air and released a hissing wave of air at him, and he rushed back as the wave sliced through the bridge and collapsed the structure into the roaring river below. The guardian deftly landed on the edge of the stone bank with peerless elegance, opening and baring her fans in a combat-ready stance.

72 ARMOR. Alright then. If she preferred the hard way.

The Slayer lowered his shotgun and calmly circled the guardian, studying her fierce but stoic expression and careful movements. He could hear the chinking of chainmail beneath her robes, and those war fans must have been made of some supernatural alloy. Sunsteel, perhaps.

He equipped a rocket launcher and opened fire.

FWOOO! The river erupted from behind the guardian and crashed over her to immediately solidify into ice, blocking the rocket and releasing a hissing steam wave that pushed the Slayer back. He fired again and again at the ice shield but the woman rushed from behind atop a stream of flowing water while firing sprays of razor-sharp icicles at him, steadily hacking away at his ARMOR. He fired several more rockets but she caught them in mid-air with flowing water streams and redirected them at him. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! 32 ARMOR. 17. 0. As he faltered from the heavy blasts, she channeled a forceful water jet to force him back and then swept him asunder in a spinning whirlpool before imprisoning him in a solid sphere of ice.

He broke the ice under his finger just far enough to pull the trigger on the rocket launcher, which was directly in front of his face.

BOOM! The Slayer broke out of the ice prison with 82 HEALTH.

OKAY! NOW HE WAS MAD!

He drew a chaingun and fired at his opponent who quickly thrust her war fans into the ground and raised towering columns of stone across the battlefield, lifting the Slayer and breaking his line-of-sight with her. He leapt down from the columns and chased after her with finger still on the trigger, and she raised a wall of stone to shield herself from the raging attack. She thrust the wall forward along the ground and slammed the Slayer with it and he riled back to catch sight of a huge boulder thundering towards him. SLAM! BOOM BOOM! A stone column thrust up from the ground behind him and knocked him forward into another one, painfully whiplashing him and reducing his health to 57. He Rampaged through the attacks and burst through the next stone wall as he regained sight of the guardian to raise his chaingun and open fire. RATATATATAT! She raised a stone barrier alongside her as she rushed away to escape the Slayer's attack, but he switched to the rocket launcher and fired at the barrier, causing its backside to blow out and strike her face with a shard of rock.

"AAAHH!" The guardian lowered her defenses and stumbled back, only a thin scratch on her cheek but already dripping blood against the white makeup. It was only a flesh wound but it wouldn't be the last.

The woman breathlessly gazed around at the destruction their battle had caused. The river was dispersed, the ornate wooden bridge was broken, the once pristine ground was torn and shattered and the pink blossom trees were gone. She returned her gaze to the Slayer.

Yeah, had enough? Even if she managed to kill him, the Slayer could do this indefinitely. He was immortal, she was not-

FWOOOOSH! A roaring inferno of crimson flame suddenly erupted from the woman and enveloped the Slayer in its blazing fury. As he unexpectedly gasped while the flames scorched through his armor and seared at his flesh, the woman combined her previous elemental attacks to overwhelm the Slayer with a series of rapid-fire offensive moves. She impaled him atop rising spikes of jagged black rock while sweeping him up in a smoldering wave of molten lava, driving thin streams of water into his injuries and throughout his body to freeze them solid and immobilize him. As his HEALTH ticked down to 1 within seconds and he was caught in the final moments of Saving Throw, he caught sight of the green-robed woman rising to meet him at his level, the four elements suspended in perfect harmony behind her and her eyes glowing white with brilliant primordial power as she radiated like the sun.

"HELLWALKER. SLAYER OF TITANS. BRINGER OF WRATH," the guardian declared with the echoing authority of a thousand ageless voices. "YOU SPREAD RUIN AND DISBALANCE TO EVERY WORLD YOU SET FOOT UPON, AND FOR THAT, YOU ARE FOREVER BANISHED FROM THE LANDS OF THE RISING SUN."

HOW DARE SHE!

He struggled to break out of her grip and reached out towards her as his very bones began to break.

"YOU ARE NAMELESS! FACELESS! GODLESS!"

HE'D TEAR HER FUCKING SOUL APART!

"GO BACK TO THE HELL FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!"

Gripping one of the long curved swords on her back, she drew the blade which seemed enveloped in flowing black ink and slashed it to slice open a howling Hellgate into which he fell, the guardian's radiant white eyes the last thing he saw before the rift closed behind him and he was cast down to Hell once more.

Nameless. Faceless. Godless.

The Marine pondered the guardian's words he'd heard so many years ago. She forbade his trespass into those lands because he was a mindless destroyer that only cared about killing demons without regard to the death and devastation he would bring. And she was right.

Did he…did he feel lost? Did he actually feel lost?

He sighed and forlornly rubbed his face with his hands.

Oh God, he actually felt lost. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he should continue his path. His whole past was just blind rage and destruction with no higher thought, goal, or purpose.

Was that all that was ever meant for him? Was he destined to fight the forces of Hell, an unkillable warrior against an infinite horde, doomed to fight the endless legions for all eternity?

Make us pay for what we've done.

Was that all he was ever meant to do? Killing zombies, shooting robots, slaying demons, writing a bloody tale of ruin and despair?

Even at the height of his powers, he could never defeat the Heresiarchs or Nameless One. All he did was imprison them at the bottom of Tartarus and buy Creation an indefinite amount of time before they broke out.

Was that even him? Had that really been him? How was he meant to defeat all of Hell?

He felt so cold. He felt so alone. It felt like Heaven was so far away.

Ashford. Osborne. Valkyrie. Samur. This woman he kept dreaming about. The Sentinels. Taylor, whom he'd barely known and yet had touched him so deeply…

The world felt so cold now that they'd all gone away.

I squeezed around a corner as I scuttled along the Mixom base, regularly glancing at my motion tracker as I checked for movement when I came across a strange sight in an adjacent laboratory.

A large flat stone sitting atop a mechanical pedestal while a robotic arm traced fiery sigils with a laser onto its surface. Ephemeral runes floated up from the stone into the air and faded quickly after.

"That's demonic. That's from Hell.

Colonel Johnson, Mixom has discovered Hell, and they're already experimenting with it."

"Like I said, John, things have changed. I didn't expect this to happen so soon, but I urgently need your help.

If we think this through, we'll both stand to benefit from the situation."

I entered the laboratory and glanced at the other relics lying atop the abandoned work stations.

"Velcore horn drive, runic translator, a lore tablet," I muttered to myself as I studied the artifacts on display. "They know what these are. They're not messing around, they know what they're doing.

…A scry-gem."

I picked up a small cloudy crystal and held it up to my eye between two fingers.

"Ha! I think I'll take this for myself!"

I made a fist with my right hand and held the scry-gem over the embedded Blur Artifact, setting it down so the Artifact absorbed and assimilated the crystal. After a few moments, the motion tracker display in my field-of-view became greatly augmented as the crystal boosted its operational range and discerning ability.

"Got a few stray zombies to my west, a pack of imps north-east…and those are robots. New robots. Headed straight for me.

Shit, I've gotta move!"

It was hot. It was cold.

He felt hot. He felt cold.

The Marine raced down a pitch-black inferno with shotgun in hand. He was running desperately low on ammo and his armor was a tattered mess hanging on his shoulders.

"Raaaagh!"

An imp leapt at him but it wasn't like the other imps he'd fought. It was slimmer, less armored, with a noticeably protruding chest and ember strands hanging from its scalp like hair. A female imp.

Get away!

The Marine punched the she-demon away and held the monster down with his foot before placing the end of the shotgun barrel in its mouth and firing. POWW!

"Sqeeee!"

A Pinky squealed from the shadows and bullrushed at him, its charge causing the supple fleshy portions of its feminine form to bounce within their armored coverings. The Marine fired the shotgun but his buckshot only hit thick shell.

There was only one way to beat a Pinky. He leapt over the charging demon at the last moment to have it slam into the rocky outcrop behind him as he drew his chainsaw and forced it into the demon's backside.

"REEEEECCCHHH!"

He sawed with the buzzing blade as it ate through flesh, shell, and bone to release wide spurts of blood and other fluids. In, out, in, out.

At last the Pinky fell silent and limp at his feet in a foul pool of its own fluids. The Marine wiped the blood and sweat from his face and raised his gaze to behold the form of a female Hell Knight, the Hellfire in her claws illuminating her muscular form. The Marine dropped his empty shotgun and chainsaw and drew a massive rocket launcher, holding the lengthy weapon in front of him as he aimed it at the demon.

"RAAAWWWRRR!" The monster charged at the Marine, and he followed suit. She tossed one and another fireball at him but he ducked left and right to avoid their searing paths while formulating a plan of attack. Only one rocket left, and Hell Knight armor was too thick to break with such a measly attack.

Except in one place.

The Hell Knight roared and drew her burning claws in preparation to tear the Marine to shreds, but he looked down at the one spot he could possibly target to defeat the demon. The rocket launcher was never meant to be used in a close-quarter situation, but if the firing barrel was inside the demon, the danger of self-damage should be minimal.

"RAAAWWWRRR!"

He readied to dropkick the demon and thrust his rocket launcher into her when suddenly there was a silver gleam and the Hell Knight crumbled dead at his feet, her body sliced into ribbons by impossibly thin and sharp claws. He skidded to a halt and gazed in confusion when he heard it.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

His blood running cold, the Marine aimed the rocket launcher into the shadows but couldn't see anything. There were soft slinking sounds, echoes of high-pitched giggling, but no movement.

"Hah hah hah hah hah!"

Click. The Marine placed his finger on the trigger and exercised every modicum of self-restraint to keep himself from pulling it. His hands were shaking, his heart hammered in his chest, and his legs were white-hot pillars of stone that refused to move.

"Ha ha ha ha ha!" The giggling figures finally emerged. Roughly a dozen crawling atop the rock on their scaly hands and feet before standing up to reveal the shapes of impossibly beautiful human women. Long white hair cascaded on their shoulders and red arrowhead tails twirled from their backs. Their violet eyes gleamed with desire beneath curved ebony horns, and their vivid crimson lips parted to reveal pearly white fangs and hissing tongues. Apart from the claws and scales across their arms and legs, their youthful bodies were bare and covered with soot, sweat, and human blood.

"Hey, boy…" One of the Succubi whispered with a voice like silk. "What's a human doing deep down in the underworld? Hell is no place for a mortal to be."

"Unless you want to be here. Ha ha ha!"

"Are you looking for the devil? Then I'm your girl…"

They were surrounding him. He flicked the rocket launcher across their ranks but they made no sign of backing down.

"My, my. A tough guy, aren't you? Heh heh, just how I like them.

Unless, you're bluffiiiiiing…"

A Succubus snarled from behind and he flicked around as they began to circle him, crawling on all fours like a pack of hyenas.

"Don't be scared, we're not going to kill you. Heh heh, that'd be no fun!

Mortals are such fun playthings. The men especially…"

"Your mortality makes me want to hurt you, to drown you in pain," a Succubus enticed with a fervorous smile, tightening a thin whip in her hands. "Let me strangle you, please?"

"The smell of your sweat, your blood, your seed! It's driving me crazy!"

One of the Succubi leapt at him and he turned the rocket launcher but the demon knocked the barrel upwards and the rocket soared harmlessly into the ember sky as she sank her teeth into his neck. The Marine grit his teeth in pain and struck the demon with the barrel, but she was only thrown off and gracefully landed unharmed on all fours.

"Oh, you're so rude!" She exclaimed as she licked his blood staining her lips with her fingers. "And so tender, ha ha ha ha!"

"Let's play, won't you? Let's play, until we decide to make dog food out of YOU!"

Another Succubus pounced at him and kicked him in the stomach into the arms of another two who began tearing his armor off. He struggled violently and punched at the demons to try and fend them off, but his attacks seemed to have no effect as the Succubi only flinched and cackled from his futile attempts.

"Come on, Marine! You can do better than that!"

"Don't resist, you know you love this torment! You've been cold and alone for so long, I've got something inside that'll warm you up! Ha ha ha!"

"Choke me, baby! Slap my face, grab my horns! Rip and tear!

Rip and tear my guts!"

With a heart that seemed to beat out of his chest and a mind driven blank with desperation, the Marine focused as much strength he could into his next punch, throwing back the Succubi with a burst of crimson energy as they cackled and flew through the air with minimal damage. He took the opportunity to rush to his feet and bolt into the darkness, the remains of his armor crumbling off as he heard scampering and clawing footsteps behind him.

"Oh, you're terribly wild!"

"I want to tear you apart!"

There was movement to his left and right. Glancing to the side, the frenzied Marine spotted the Succubi deftly and nimbly leaping across the rocky columns as they effortlessly kept up with him.

Snap! Something cracked through the air and the Marine jerked sharply back, a Succubus' leather whip wrapped tight around his neck. With an ecstatic snarl, the creature pulled the whip and threw him to the ground before leaping on top of him.

"Come on, don't be shy. Do it with me just one time.

Is it the horns that scare you? If you want…" The Succubus shook her head and morphed her horns into a spiked halo. "I'll be your angel. Come here, and let me send you to paradise."

He tried to throw her off but the demon pressed her body against his and pinned him to the ground. Moments later the rest of the pack crowded around him and gripped his limbs so he wouldn't escape, fangs pressing lightly against his fingers.

No, no! Why was he so weak? Where had his strength gone?!

"You know you want this," a Succubus urged beside him. "You want to split her in half, don't you?"

"Bend her over! Make her scream!"

"Fuck me, Marine," implored the one atop him. "Fuck me till you make me bleed."

He could feel fingers beginning to spread across his whole body as two hands gripped his mouth and forced it open.

"You like fighting, don't you? You like violence. Well, love and war are two sides of the same coin, wouldn't you agree?

Two souls enraptured in passion, their destinies entwined in the throes of violence. Opposed yet united, rising in fury until the sweet climax of victorious conquest.

So let's make love, Marine. Let's make war. Let's make sweet, loving war to each other."

"Ha ha ha! I'll burn your fingers one by one!"

The Succubus grinned and spread her mouth fully open from ear to ear, revealing a wide drooling jaw with wicked fangs and a long rapacious tongue.

"I'll set you on fire, Marine. I'll suck you dry and leave your drained corpse to rot in Hell."

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

The Marine woke up from the nightmarish memory releasing a roaring psychic blast analogous to screaming.

He shivered and yet he was drenched in sweat. His body burned. His skin, his head, his loins, his chest. Something blazed within him out of control, a burning desire like the very fires of Hell.

FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!

Sounds of commotion rumbled through the walls of his chamber. He heard the confused muttering of other beings from the Jericho gathering outside his door when it suddenly opened and Valeria rushed in.

"By ze Imperator!"

The Hyperborean medic entered the chamber to find the Marine crouching on the floor beside his bed, retching and convulsing in agony but his empty stomach yielding nothing.

"Slayer- Aah!" She rushed forward and laid her hand on the Marine's shoulder but swiftly pulled it back, her fingers already welting from the contact.

"Gods above, you're burning up. Can someone help me?!" She turned to the mob gathering outside the doorway. "You and you! Help me carry him! He's in pain!"

Two aliens, a Sangheili Arbiter and a Turian Ranger, entered the chamber and lifted a delirious Marine onto their shoulders as Valeria cleared a path through the mob. The aliens groaned from the contact but their armors resisted the Marine's feverishness.

"Get out of ze vay, out of ze vay, move! Ve have to take him to ze healing enclave! Hold on, Slayer!"

The Slayer's vision was blurred and his chest felt tight, making it difficult to breathe. The two taller aliens half-carried, half-dragged him across fleeting corridors, through flashing teleporters, and past leering faces. He was glad the helmet remained on his face.

After what seemed an eternity, the rustling of bushes beneath his guides' feet and the vibrant smell of greenery in his nose woke him up. Valeria and the two aliens were carrying him through a dark nighttime forest, stars and moonlight shining through the treetops.

No, not a real moon. Not real stars. Simulated. Still…in Hell.

His feet splashed across running water and the two aliens gently lowered him on his back into a cool stream, the water steaming and hissing on contact with his feverish body. Valeria bent down and poured something into a port on his helmet's mouthpiece and into his gasping mouth. Holy water.

Ohhhhhhhh…His fever began to fade and his body slowly cooled down, washing away his frustration and leaving him spent but clear-headed.

"Aeu chu?" He could hear the Sangheili ask.

"No idea," came the reply from the Turian as the two aliens splashed through the water and climbed out the river.

"Ei slee hwah."

"I know. I was in the middle of running calibrations."

"What happened?" The voice of the Warden sternly asked from above the bank.

"He suffered a night terror. I have it under control," replied his medic.

"That did not seem 'under control.'"

"He is in great distress. This is a natural symptom of someone vith his experiences-"

"I've seen the symptoms of those afflicted with suffering! This was not it!

If you are hiding anything from me, Vril-ya, that might threaten the safety and well-being of this fortress-!"

"I don't have to tell you anything," the Hyperborean responded in a tone as smooth and tranquil as the running water around the Marine. "He is my patient and he has confidentiality vith his medic."

What in the…

The Marine cracked one eye open to find Valeria standing calmly before the towering horned and masked Warden, who looked ready and able to snap the medic in two with her bare hands.

"As your commander, I order you to-!"

"Ze Imperator entrusted ze Slayer to me. If you have a problem vith that decision, you tell him yourself."

Valeria walked off and left a frustrated Warden alone by the river bank, though the Slayer was entirely relieved and grateful.

He almost regretted being such an ass to the Hyperborean.

Slowly blinking in semi-consciousness, the Marine saw the dark figure of the Warden standing stoically above the river bank with her robes billowing in the wind, gazing directly at him. When he next blinked, she was gone.

Splash!

He jerked up in full alertness, soon realizing the splash hadn't been nearby but rather far behind him. Weakly picking himself up, the Marine carefully waded through the shallow water and peered over a large boulder at the figure stepping into the water below.

It was Valeria's servant, its hooded silhouette appearing dark atop the shimmering moonlit river. It carried an urn in hand which it filled with water and placed upon the bank before stepping further out into the river, grabbing the edge of its cloak and pulling it off itself to reveal the bare form of a woman with horns.

…

The demon reached up to her head and untied the clasps keeping her hair in place, letting the thick black dreadlocks fall down to her shoulders. She took a deep breath and dove into the water, resurging moments later with a loud gasp and her hair tracing a wide splashing arc through the air.

The Marine scowled in rising fury. Before him was the cause of his affliction, a demon of flesh and blood that had poisoned his body and mind with sinful desire, walking freely through the halls of the Jericho. What sick, twisted curse had she cast unto him?

That demon had to die. If he didn't kill it, it could spread wanton havoc across the vulnerable warriors. Slitting their throats in their sleep, consuming their life force, breaching the ship's defenses to let its brethren inside. There was no enslaving or taming them, the only useful demon was a dead demon. And yet…

He couldn't stop looking. The way the moonlight embraced her slender form, tracing a brilliant path down the curves of her back, the way her horns swept back along her raven hair, yet how she kept her head low and quietly bathed in the waist-deep waters…

It was captivating. Enthralling. Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew him.

Crack! His grip slipped and loudly threw a trickle of pebbles down the rocky outcrop on which he leaned, causing the demon to gaze up at him with golden eyes shining in the moonlight. The Marine swiftly ducked behind the rock with a racing heart, bracing himself for a confrontation with the monster, yet he could hear no rustling of bushes or ravenous snarling. After a few moments, he carefully peered back over the rock, finding the servant climbing out of the river and wrapping her cloak around herself. She picked up her urn and looked in his direction one last time before heading into the forest and vanishing.

The Marine sighed in relief. That was a close one. Perhaps the Forsworn might tolerate the presence of corrupted souls and even demons aboard their fortress, but that was something he would not stand for.

He had to be careful. Stay alert. Succubi were cunning and he was especially vulnerable in his weakened state. When she next came, he better he ready.

Elena and Romero sat quietly against the wall in the Lazarus laboratory, listening to distant growls and hoping against hope that someone, anyone, would rescue them.

"You know, I never wanted to be this way," Romero broke the silence. "I never wanted to be a killer, but it's what I was born into.

Ceres is a hard place. Out of reach of Earth's or Mars' authority, lots of resources, people coming in from all over the System. It's kill or be killed out there. Cloaks and daggers everywhere. Doors and corners, that's where they get you.

I started out an orphan on those streets. The mafia took me in, gave me a knife, a target, and promised a sleeping cell with rations. And I was good at it. Real good.

One day, I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. With the wrong people, the wrong money, and the wrong blood on my hands.

So I ran away. I've laid low ever since and take a job here and there to…bite the next bullet, shoot the next round. Maybe I thought I could drink it all away. I only take the jobs I agree to now, only for the right target and for the right reasons."

Romero paused to look at the two weapons hanging from his hip, the katana and revolver. He chuckled and Elena blinked inquisitively, until the chuckling became a coarse painful coughing.

"God, I've made such a mess of my conscience.

I wish there was something I could do to make up for all that blood behind me. I want to believe that everything happens for a reason, and all that suffering wasn't for nothing."

The gunslinger sighed and regretfully slumped against the wall.

"I wish I'd been better. I just wish…I wish I was strong."

"ON YOUR FEET, MAGGOT!"

The Marine groaned and picked himself up with shotgun in hand, rushing across the training grounds past flamethrowers and spike traps as the enslaved demons swarmed around him.

"YOU MOVE LIKE YOU'VE GOT TEN POUNDS OF MEXICAN IN YOUR PANTIES, MARINE!" Lieutenant Typhon barked at him through the speaker system. "ON THE DOUBLE! PUCKER THAT ASS AND TRAMPLE THAT GRASS! I'VE SEEN SOLDIERS WITH NO LEGS OR DICKS CRAWLING FASTER THAN YOU!"

There's no fucking grass here!

The Marine ran across the arena to avoid the bullrush of a Pinky as a Hell Knight roared and launched flaming projectiles at him. He sidestepped the fireballs and retaliated with shrapnel slugs while ducking under a wall-mounted pendulum-ax that grazed his helmet.

"Are you running away?

ARE YOU RUNNING FROM THE DEMONS IN MY ARENA, YOU SHRIMP-DICKED FUCK NUGGET?

GET BACK THERE AND SHOW THEM WHAT A MEAN GREEN KILLING MACHINE YOU ARE! MARINES DON'T RUN AWAY! THEY PLOW DICK-FIRST INTO THE HEAT OF BATTLE AND FUCK THAT BITCH IN THE ASS!

NOW GET IN THERE AND FILL THEM UP WITH YOUR PIPING HOT LEAD!"

God, why does she have to be so obscene?!

The Marine leapt onto a jump pad and soared through the air as he fired shrapnel slugs throughout the arena, but his shots did paltry damage against the demons. Just then, a minigun materialized atop a weapon dispersion panel and he rushed to seize it, aiming it at the Hell Knight and firing. RATATATATATAT!

What is this weapon spread?! The Marine fired the minigun but struggled to hit the Hell Knight with even a single bullet beneath an unmanageable recoil and an atrocious accuracy.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER, MARINE? CAN'T HANDLE A LITTLE RECOIL? HEAVY WEAPONS TOO HEAVY FOR YOU?

I'VE GOT A LOVELY SET OF PORCELAIN CUPS THAT'LL GO NICELY WITH YOUR FRILLY PINK TUTU DRESS, LIKE THE PANSY-ASS LITTLE BITCH THAT YOU ARE!"

FUCK YOU, Typhon! I'm nowhere near as strong or fast as I was on Mars, and my attacks do far less damage than before! Color me demanding but I need the mere act of aiming my gun to be incrementally more precise than shaving my cock with a car bumper!

The Marine hissed and threw the worthless minigun aside.

"YOU THINK THAT'S UNFAIR? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S FUCKING UNFAIR!

WHAT'S UNFAIR IS STARING DOWN THE DEMON HORDE WITH NOTHING BUT A 1911 AND YOUR DICK IN HAND CUZ SOME CHICKEN SHIT NERDS THOUGHT IT'D BE A GOOD IDEA TO OPEN A FEW MORE PORTALS AFTER WHAT HAPPENED ON PHOBOS! THEIR NUMBERS ARE COUNTLESS, THEIR VICIOUSNESS UNCONTESTED, AND THEIR CRUELTY MAKES TORTURE LOOK LIKE A FUCKING PICNIC!

SO YOU'RE GOING TO STOP BEING A LITTLE BITCH AND START RIPPING AND TEARING UNTIL YOU'RE TOUGH ENOUGH THAT SATAN HIMSELF IS GOING TO GO CRYING TO MOMMY WHEN HE SEES YOU, LIKE THE LITTLE BITCH HE IS!"

The one they called 'Satan' was many things, and a little bitch wasn't one of them.

But the Marine was at the end of his strength. He hadn't slept in days to avoid the dreadful visions that tormented him every night now, and both his vision and mind were filled with a thick fog that made focus impossible. He found his eyes drooping shut and his breathing grew ragged as his running slowed, and strange dream-like thoughts began to drift through his head. A skeletal hand flew from nowhere and struck him in the face to knock him to the ground. The shotgun fell out of his hands and he fell to his knees.

"Marine!"

The Marine knelt atop the ashes of a scorched wasteland. Oceans of blood shimmered on the surface and brimstone rained from the sky. On the horizon, he could see the skeletal husks of skyscrapers blazing with infernal sigils, Earth's once-mighty cities now ravaged and destroyed. Above them, a red sun burned itself out as Hell's fleets spread across a dying universe.

Looking down in defeat, he found himself surrounded by the corpses of humanity, their heads impaled atop spikes and their ashes sifting through his fingers.

"MARINE!"

The Revenant punched the Marine's face and he fell on his back, the zombie punching him again and again to crack his visor before it screeched, made one last fist, and everything went dark.

"...Reset," came Lieutenant Typhon's disappointed voice.

The Revenant shrieked but it and the rest of the demons were wisped away in swirls of flame to the Jericho's demon prison. The Marine had 1 HEALTH left, an allowance by the mystic Arena Eternal that the Forsworn had configured for training purposes, but his training armor was ravaged and would require repair. He picked himself up as the Arena lowered its traps and manifested a portal that took him in front of a livid Typhon and a stern Warden, with Valeria and several other Forsworn warriors who'd come to watch the carnage behind them.

Typhon slammed her cap to the ground and he braced himself.

"WHAT IN THE FARM-FRESH FUCK WAS THAT, MAGGOT? YOU SAT THERE LIKE AN IDIOT AND LET THAT DEMON SKULLFUCK YOU TO DEATH!

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? IS IT? WHAT THE HELL AM I TRAINING YOU FOR? IF YOU THINK MY IDEA OF A PERFECT AFTERNOON IS WASTING MY TIME TRAINING PATHETIC EXCUSES OF MARINES LIKE YOURSELF, YOU'RE SORELY MISTAKEN!

WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"

The Marine kept his mouth and mind shut.

"Hellwalker," began the Warden. "You should be grateful for what you've been given. You have a great power, but you're squandering it with your own indolence.

Nothing's holding you back but yourself. Whatever it is that's affecting you, toughen up and fix it soon. We have no room for weak men aboard the Jericho."

…Ouch.

Typhon fumed and pressed her face against the Marine's helmet. "Get the everloving fuck out of my sight, maggot.

DISMISSED!"

The Marine saluted her and heavily marched past the two commanders as Valeria rushed to his side. She held out a flask of healing potion and he eagerly took it, pouring it into the induction port on his helmet and wincing as the cool fluid flowed down his throat in a soothing wave.

"Typhon's right, you know," came a voice from behind him and the Marine immediately halted. He looked over his shoulder to find the Hellfire Spartan leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, addressing the Spacer beside him but looking straight at the Marine. "We're all wasting our time with a washed-up has-been like him.

I can't tell what the Imperator sees in him, other than a pathetic self-pitying excuse."

"Slayer…," Valeria began with a low voice. "Look at me. Take a deep breath, keep moving forvard, and don't look back."

…Fine.

The Marine moved on and the Hellfire Spartan scoffed and walked away.

"That's right. Let it go, it's not vorth- SLAYER!"

The Marine had already flashed around and charged at the soldier with fire in his eyes, who glanced back in surprise before being tackled to the ground. The two of them rose to their feet and he savagely punched at the soldier's face and chest, cracking the thick armor and pushing him back to the wall before grabbing his neck and slamming the Spartan back and forth against the stone.

"Oh no…" whispered the Spacer behind him.

Suddenly, the Spartan took a hold of both the Marine's arms and pried them away from its neck with a vice-like grip, slamming its helmet against the Marine's and jabbing its hand into his exposed throat.

OWWW!

The two backed away from the wall and the Marine threw another punch but the Spartan easily countered his attack and backfisted his face before following with a painful pectoral jab. He swung a right hook but the Spartan dodged and punched at the Marine's kidneys to thrust him forward.

He spun around and threw another two brute punches but the Spartan countered these as well, keenly and precisely delivering a left hook to his jaw, double jabs to the face and knocked the wind out of him with a gut punch to finish with a right hook that threw the Marine into the wall. The soldier grabbed his head and slammed it down on its knee before lifting a dazed Marine into the air and slamming him onto the ground.

"...You need…to get your SHIT together," hissed the panting Spartan before raising a booted foot above the Marine's chest.

Valeria yelled. "SLAYER!"

BOOM! CRASH! The Marine fell through the ground and landed on the floor beneath by the force of the Spartan's stomp, directly in the middle of a dozen surprised Forsworn warriors. He wheezed weakly amidst a pile of rubble, staring through the new hole in the roof at the Spartan, Warden, and Lieutenant Typhon looking down at him before they walked away and vanished.

"Whoa-ho-ho! SHIT, man!" Chuckled a new voice beside him, and the Marine looked up into the laughing face of John Grimm walking over to his side. "Don't know what sort of shit you're getting yourself into but you ha–ha-have GOT to bring me next time!" Grimm extended a hand toward the Marine and he took it to lift himself up, grunting as his internal organs screamed in protest.

Grimm looked up and patted his back as Valeria knelt beside and lowered herself through the hole. "Gotta give you credit though, you're tougher than you look."

The medic rushed up to the Marine and pressed her hand against his throat, who winced as she touched his still-hurting trachea. She sighed. "Vhy do you keep looking for trouble? Vhat is it you need to prove?"

…Sorry.

She shook her head and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to your chamber. You need to rest."

The Marine halted her and gently lifted her hand off.

Thanks, but I need some time alone.

"You sure you're okay?" Asked Grimm.

I don't need help.

"If there's anything I can help with," Valeria began with a concerned face, "anything you need to talk about-"

I said I'm fine! I'm just…gonna lie down until the pain goes away, the Marine thought as he rubbed his throat and turned to leave, feeling a warmth spread across his chest and back and realizing his stitches had ripped. But he didn't need their help, he'd deal with his problems on his own.

As always. In silence.

In his distraction he almost walked into the disgraced Yautja without its dreadlocks who'd been standing beside him. The Yautja was bare of armor and wore only a loincloth to reveal a pale muscular body crossed with scars and greenish tiger-like stripes. As he stared, the alien released a hoarse chuckling and spoke in a crude approximation of human speech.

"You…look like…shit."

The Marine raised an eyebrow as the grotesque alien merely cackled and clicked its tusks in mockery.

Laugh it up, fuckface.

But the Marine walked past the Yautja and left the concerned Valeria and Grimm behind, dejectedly making his way through the crowd and back to his chamber as he kept one hand on his throat and the other on his aching stomach.

This was a mistake. He was just wasting everyone's time here. He didn't belong on this ship. He was nowhere as strong as the Forsworn in this state.

…He wasn't as strong as he once thought.

Something clanged in the distance. Whispers echoed down the halls of Lazarus and the two survivors thought they could hear the sounds of claws striking on tile, but nothing appeared in the hall they sat on.

Elena looked down at her hands.

"When I was a girl, I wanted to be a dancer. I loved the grace, the beauty of it. The way the dancers could float through the air as if they weighed nothing.

But I was never good at it. I studied biotechnology when I got older, but I never felt anything for it. Even now, I'm really only an average scientist."

"But," Romero asked, "you came here…On behalf of the Global Science Council."

"As a replacement ambassador, not a researcher. The official ambassador fell ill and sent me instead."

"Oh."

"I always wanted to help others but I lacked talent in anything. I just…"

The scientist sighed and brought her legs close to her body, resting her head on her knees.

"I wish there was something I could have called my own. I wish I could have made a difference, helped someone in some way."

The gunslinger placed his hand on her shoulder.

"You helped Agent Taylor. She was lucky to have met you, and I know you changed her life for the better."

Elena said nothing more, but shut her eyes and struggled to keep herself from crying.

HEATWAVE FOUNDRY

THERMOSUITS REQUIRED PAST THIS POINT

"Ooh, that's steamy."

I entered a separate complex filled with sweltering heat from the red-hot lava flowing underneath. The entire foundry was illuminated by the ember glow as molten metal poured from the ceiling and walls into the reservoir below.

I tentatively grabbed one railing for a false sense of safety but reeled back when I felt it wobble.

"God! Who the hell designs these facilities? This railing is weak as shit!

None of this is remotely safe…" I muttered as I looked over the edge and peered below at the bubbling lava.

"Hsss…"

"Shit, they're here!"

I turned around with guns ready but saw no movement across the walkways.

"Hsss!"

It's closer!

I glanced at my motion tracker to find a snake-like shape darting swiftly from behind towards me when I turned around and barely caught sight of a translucent figure ram into me and throw me over the railing.

"SHIIIT!"

I quickly fired my jets and soared upwards before I fell into the lava, landing atop a solid platform before daring to retaliate.

"AAAAAHH!"

I launched one fireball after another across the foundry but didn't hit anything, only hearing a mechanical serpentine rattling and hissing slink around and throughout the walkways. The thing was cloaked and the shimmering air made finding it all but impossible.

Suddenly there was a fiery burst and a swarm of micromissiles flew at me from a billowing steam mist.

"There!"

I dodged the missiles while casting a flame wave in that direction and to my surprise managed to strike the entity and lit its serpentine shape on fire, and its active cloak wore off to reveal a silver three-meter long robot with a crocodilian jaw, six long scythed arms, and three gyroscopic jetspheres providing lift to its long snake-like body. The robot, labeled ARGUS UNIT, dug its charred scythes into the adjacent pipes before releasing a metallic roar at me.

"ROOOWWWRRR!"

RATATATATATAT! I opened fire with explosive machine gun rounds but the Argus darted out of my line of fire and ducked into the complex environment. I rushed after it with my Third Eye active to track it even with its active camo, but it deftly avoided my gunfire by slinking around the pipes and crawling along the walls and ceiling.

KRT KRT KRT KRT…

"What the…"

EEEEEEE POW POW POW!

"Aaah!"

A swarm of spider-like microbots I hadn't even noticed waddled up to my feet and exploded with the strength of hand grenades, quickly bursting my overshield. The Argus must have released them while I was busy rushing trying to find it.

BZZZZT…

A red laser sight settled on my exposed chest from a shadowy alcove, and out of sheer primal instinct I shade-dashed out of the way.

"AAAAH-!" POWW! A red-hot meter-long javelin suddenly impaled itself where my chest had been a fraction of a second earlier. With further ticking sounds from the next volley of the hidden Argus' seeker grenades, I cast a waspid swarm behind me and against my instincts rushed in the direction of the new opponent. My upgraded motion tracker displayed a roughly person-sized shape above me, and I looked up to find a black android with a menacing javelin gun, quivering back-mounted stability thrusters above its jetpack, and a smooth robotic head with two long antenna that gave it the appearance of a bee.

The Black Bee settled its laser sight on me again and I activated my phase shift to become invisible and opened fire, but after only a few hits the droid teleported away and my attacks hit the blank wall.

"Hsss!"

"Whoa!"

I turned around at the Argus' sudden ambush and parried its scythes with my Bronze Knife.

"Shit, it can see through my phase shift!"

Keenly parrying its slashes, I landed several hits on the serpentine robot but it whipped me back with an electric strike from its long tail and slinked back into the fog.

"Oh no, you don't!"

I switched to my new Argent Lances and opened fire before the Argus could escape again. The robot shrieked as my crackling beams ripped through its body and it fell apart on the floor in a scattering pile of sparking shrapnel. I let my guard down as my phase shift wore off.

BZZZZ!

"Urrgghh!"

A stun bomb exploded at my feet and electrocuted me while the sound of the Black Bee's targeting reticle whistled across the foundry.

POWW!

"AAAHH!"

The hidden Black Bee struck me with a javelin that lodged itself in my chest in a splatter of dark fluid and shrapnel, knocking me forward and reducing my health almost by half. I grabbed a hold of the spike and with a pained yell pulled it free from my chest.

BZZZZT…

"No no NO!"

POWW! POWW! POWW!

I dashed left and right struggling to avoid the Black Bee's javelins, but the robot repeatedly teleported across the environment and made return fire impossible. My overshield was still regenerating and I knew I couldn't survive many more hits.

"The alt fire…wait! The alt fire!"

Wrr POWW! "Screee!" The seeker bolt shot from my cannons and bounced across the foundry until it struck somewhere behind me and the Black Bee screeched.

"Fucking piece of-!"

POWW! "Screee!" POWW!

…

The shattered body of the Black Bee collapsed from the rafters in front of me, the display on its cracked visor powering off and going dark.

"Yeah, you bitch-!" I angrily kicked the head over the railing and into the molten metal, but to my surprise it only thudded and settled atop the red-hot surface.

"Huh. I expected it to sink."

"John," Colonel Johnson started. "John! Look!"

I glanced at the Black Bee's smashed chassis and found a familiar triangle-and-bullet logo printed on the hull.

"Trinity Systems. Wait, isn't that-?"

"A weapons manufacturer and rival to the UAC."

"What about the Argus?"

I ran back to the serpentine robot's remains and found another logo printed on it.

"I/O Logistics. Mixom is teaming up with other competitor companies to the UAC. Construction, weapons, infrastructure, aerospace…Whatever they have planned here on Europa is definitely something big."

"On their own, none of these corporations could stand up to the superpower that is the UAC. But together, and with their own advancements in Hell research…best believe they can, and they will."

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? Mentally yelled the Marine in the Jericho's forge.

"SUIT IS REPAIRED. REASSEMBLED," responded the Verimor Blacksmith.

THEN WHY THE FUCK IS IT NOT WORKING?

"SUIT IS REPAIRED. FULLY FUNCTIONAL."

CLEARLY NOT BECAUSE IT'S STILL NOT RESPONDING TO ME!

"SUIT IS REPAIRED. HELLWALKER IS NOT."

The Marine scowled and punched the Verimor machinery beside him, briefly denting the smooth surface before the nanoscopic matter repaired itself, only adding to his anger. In front of him, the reconstructed Praetor Suit was whole and free of damage but still completely unresponsive.

I BET YOU DIDN'T DO JACK SHIT! I BET A RETARDED FUCKING CRIPPLE WITH NO ARMS OR LEGS COULD DO A BETTER JOB THAN YOU!

"UNTRUE. WORK IS PERFECT.

HELLWALKER IS NOT. IN WRONG PLACE.

NOT WELL. NOT OF MIND. NOT OF HEART."

The Slayer hissed and repeatedly punched at the Verimor machinery until he was steaming with frustration at the unbreaking surface. He tackled the Praetor Suit within its suspension platform and punched at its helmet on the ground, desperate to evoke any response but the visor remained whole and dark. Beside him, Valeria remained silent but disheartened from his outburst, wincing and looking away as the Marine assaulted the inanimate armor.

Before long his knuckles were numb and the Suit was splattered with blood.

FUUUUUUUCK!

The Sentry Bot suspended above the Suit was undamaged but still dark and unresponsive. Looking at its still shape, the Marine stormed off and left the medic and Verimor Crafter behind, who calmly levitated the undamaged Praetor Suit from the ground and vaporized the blood with a quick shimmering wave.

"PITY THE FLESHLINGS," he heard behind him before he stepped into a teleporter and warped away.

The Marine reappeared in another hall of the Jericho and fumingly walked back towards his room, but his rage quickly evaporated and was replaced with overbearing exhaustion. He didn't have the strength to keep himself angry.

He was tired. He hadn't slept in a week and felt as if life was being wrung out of his still-walking body and leaving with every breath, but he needed to stay awake to avoid the nightmares. He couldn't go back. He walked past a doorway and past the luminous cloaked figure with a golden halo.

What?!

The Marine rushed back and glanced into the doorway, finding himself in what appeared to be a small empty chapel with only a single candle in the center and nothing else.

Valeria's hooded servant lay prostrated before the candle, kneeling in adoration and quietly praying. She turned around as the Marine arrived and met his gaze through her veil, the small golden Star of David hanging from her hand in a simple twine.

He frowned. She might be fooling them, but she wasn't fooling him. He knew her plan. When she came to attack, it was she who would die.

Suddenly, there was a commotion around him and several Forsworn warriors rushed past towards a main hall. He turned away from the servant and listened to the aliens' various multi-tongued conversations.

"Don't want to be late!"

"Haven't you heard? Let's go!"

"Is it really?"

The hell was going on? The Marine headed in their same direction as the alien multitude around him gradually thickened.

"Has he really returned?"

"He's come, we'll get to see him!"

"Will the Doom Slayer be there?"

HE WAS RIGHT HE- Oh, right. The suit. The Marine fortunately managed to keep his thoughts to himself, and was grateful the other Forsworn weren't aware of his true identity in his current state. Now he realized why they had provided the training armor.

The multitude arrived at and spread out across a feasting hall the size of a cathedral, filled with dozens of long polished tables and illuminated by an eerie ceiling displaying a cosmic vista of galaxies, nebulae, and stars that gradually faded into the polished stone walls.

Holy shit.

The Marine followed the flow of the crowd and sat down at the first availability, glancing at the many warriors and aliens passing by. They looked down at him with expressions of criticism and contempt and kept moving on. Checking the table, he discovered the Forsworn sitting apart from where he was, their backs to him and glancing in his direction before returning to whispering among themselves.

He knew why. Because of the incident back at the Arena, where he'd proved himself a disappointment to the Warden and Lieutenant Typhon, and got his ass handed to him by that Spartan. Shit, it didn't matter if nobody knew he was the Slayer, because now everyone knew he was a failure.

It was strange. He was completely surrounded by intelligent beings for the first time in eons, and yet…

He'd never felt more alone.

"Hey, big guy!"

Ah, shit.

An eager Grimm interrupted his brooding and energetically sat beside him. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while. Good to see ya here!" He yelled as he boisterously patted the Marine's back, practically slamming him onto the table.

He sulked but allowed the contact, not displeased to see at least one face in that damn ship that didn't look at him with scorn or disappointment. Perhaps Grimm hadn't heard about-

"I heard you got your ass kicked by a Spartan!"

Ugh…

"Ha ha ha! Don't feel too bad, I hear those guys are literally trained from childhood to be deadly supersoldiers! That one you fought was even once classified as a 'hyper-lethal vector'!

Plus, you know, power armor and all that, so really wasn't a fair fight."

He 'literally' once brought down the Dreadknought Colossus of Taras Nabad with nothing but his shotgun and half a loincloth! He didn't even HAVE the Praetor Suit back then!

"Don't worry about it. You win some, you lose s- WHEW!" Grimm whistled as the female Scorned marched past them, wearing lighter armor that bared much more of her sculpted muscular form.

"GodDAMN!" The man continued. "You don't come across abs like that every day."

The Marine questioningly raised an eyebrow at Grimm, but the soldier was already glancing around at the other Forsworn milling past them.

"This place is practically swimming with hot warrior chicks, man! Tell you what, I bet you and I can get dates if we get some shinier suits and clean ourselves up-"

Grimm was cut off by the figure that sat across the two and gazed intently at them, the female warrior with red biometallic armor and ethereal blue hair that the Warden had referred to as Hennya.

The man made a nervous smile. "I mean, the hair is neat, but I feel there's too much of a cultural…species…barrier between us. I don't think we can really connect, is what I'm saying," he told the alien, evidently uncomfortable by her eerie multi-eyed face. Hennya slowly reached up to her head and pressed two switches, causing her energy hair to dissipate and her metallic face to nfold while venting steam. She grabbed hold of the faceplate and pulled it off, the Marine and Grimm holding their breaths as they braced for a grotesque alien face.

"Hello, gentlemen," cheerfully spoke a stunningly attractive human woman with caramel skin, radiant violet eyes, and dazzling magenta hair that shined with a metallic luster. "Glad to see you're enjoying your evening."

"...Good God!" Whispered a starstruck Grimm. "I think I died and went to Heaven instead."

Hennya smiled, fixing her lustrous hair that rested in a bob on her shoulders and setting her eerie mask onto the table, but the Marine was more skeptical. Not only of Hennya's brighter attitude compared to the other Forsworn but also her exceptionally exotic appearance as an otherwise seemingly ordinary human. Was she an ancient refugee that had been lost to the cosmos and found by an alien civilization, or did she originate from a future human society?

"Wait, I think I've heard of you," Grimm spoke up. "The others were calling you 'Hennya,' I believe."

"Oh no!" The warrior warmly corrected. "Hennya's the name of my Warframe here. Please, call me Tyri!" She held out her hand and Grimm shook it in greeting.

"John Grimm, but you can call me Reaper."

"Reaper? Ah! Grimm Reaper! I like it!"

"Heh, thanks.

You know, I was gonna ask," Grimm looked around at the crowded hall. "What's all the ruckus about?"

"Word is the Imperator has returned to the Jericho, and I hear the Warden and High Three will be here too."

"The High Three?"

"The three most powerful warriors aboard the Jericho, answering only to the Imperator."

The Black Knight, Destructor, and Oathbreaker, the Marine realized. He glanced over to the front of the hall. The Warden was already standing there with arms folded behind her back, but she only looked across the roiling multitude in clear wait for something. There was a short table behind her positioned above the ground floor, with several seats and a high chair at the center like a throne.

"So what's your Emperor like? I've asked, but few here seem willing to even talk about him."

"Imperator. There's really no describing him, you have to see it for yourself.

I don't know much about him, but I've heard rumors about him slaughtering gods and spreading darkness across the Immortal Realms. Some whisper that he's a dark lord to rival even the Doom Slayer."

Yeah, right.

"No way!"

"Yeah!"

"And will the Slayer be here too?"

Hennya's eye flickered almost imperceptibly towards the Marine, something he keenly noticed.

"Don't know. I know he made contact with the Forsworn a while back, but that's all I know."

Grimm turned around to glance over the crowd, and Hennya took the chance to cast a sly wink at the Marine.

Don't think you're winning any favors with me, he sourly thought before a yellow figure caught his eye. The warrior monk was making his way through the crowd in the direction of the Warden, greeting and occasionally bowing in respect to other beings that reached out for him, but the Marine noticed he wasn't accompanied by the young shrine maiden.

A short figure in a red-and-white dress promptly sat at the table beside the Marine.

GOD damn it!

"Master Wan sends his regards and told me to say hi," the shrine maiden spoke.

Regards received, hi received. Now get out of here.

"Hi, miss Tyri."

"Hello, Rei!"

"Hey there, kiddo!" Grimm spoke beside him and the Marine rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What's a young 'un like you doing in this neck of the woods?"

"I was walking home one night after praying at my shrine and I got lost."

The Marine flared up. YOU ENDED UP ON THE NINTH CIRCLE OF TORMENT ON YOUR WAY HOME FROM PRAYER?

"It was dark."

"Sounds like me after a round of beers," chuckled Grimm as he held his fist out at the shrine maiden. "Lay it here, kiddo! I'm Grimm, nice to meet ya!"

Looking over the crowd, the Marine saw the Black Knight, Destructor, and Oathbreaker warp in and walk over to the high table.

The shrine maiden returned Grimm's fistbump but her expression changed to one of confusion. "I'm Rei, but you don't look terribly grim to me," she spoke with complete honesty. The soldier and Hennya erupted in hysterical laughter, and the Marine tiredly facepalmed.

I'm surrounded by idiots.

THUD!

The Warden thunderously slammed her mace onto the ground, drawing everyone's attention and bringing the chamber to complete silence. The High Priestess stepped forth.

"It's been long since we first gathered. Long since we were rescued from our cursed lives, rescued from this forsaken realm.

We uphold our vows to combat the Hellspawn and to offer sanctuary to any lost travelers. We vow allegiance to no law, no nation, no lord, no god.

We vow allegiance only to ourselves…and to him."

WHAT is he? The Marine glanced back and forth, but all the warriors around him were transfixed upon the Priestess. The Warden stood sternly beside her and the High Three patiently waited above.

"I announce the arrival of the Raging Warlord. The Thunder Tyrant. The Empty One and Lord of Black Sun…

The Imperator."

The hall began to shake, and looking up the Marine found the dazzling greens, blues, and violets of the cosmic starscapes projected on the ceiling above fade to an ominous red as the stars were snuffed out by an overwhelming darkness. The ground rumbled and all the warriors throughout the hall stood up in reverence. Grimm nervously followed suit but the Marine made sure to remain seated.

A swirl of shadow manifested on the raised platform at the front of the hall, and the High Priestess bowed and backed away as the dark figure slowly materialized. The air in the hall palpably cooled and became filled with a sensation of pervasive emptiness that chilled the Marine to the bone.

He was almost three meters tall, a brutal domineering figure that stood like a monolith of pure darkness. He carried no armor, only thick jet-black skin atop his otherwise featureless body. He wore a half-mask over his face and his eyes glared with crimson power. Behind him, a black hole manifested in the star field displayed on the walls, hanging behind his head like a dark halo of nothingness.

The Marine's eyes widened. The cold, the emptiness, the power to manipulate the Void beyond Creation. The Imperator was a Voidwalker.

The Imperator faced the Forsworn and took a slow step forward before swiftly clenching his right fist in a battle pose.

"FOR THE JERICHO," he declared in a resounding voice like thunder.

"For the Jericho!" The Forsworn responded in turn, and the Marine was keenly aware of the Imperator gazing directly at him, at his seated posture and refusal to salute. But the warlord lowered his fist and turned back to walk towards the high table. He sat upon the center high seat, followed afterward by the High Three and the rest of the Forsworn.

The ominous red aura retreated from the starry ceiling to restore the dazzling cosmic vistas and the chilling emptiness lifted somewhat, though the red aura and the black hole remained projected behind the Imperator's throne.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," the High Priestess spoke as platters and dishes beyond the Marine's wildest dreams suddenly appeared throughout the table, and as the sounds of clamorous chatter resumed, the High Priestess, warrior monk, and Warden took seats at the high table.

The feast was astounding. Exotic fruits, bubbling drinks, strange ambrosias and desserts. Roasted, raw, and living food-beasts of every shape and size beckoning from the tables before the wildly different alien races of the Forsworn. The Marine had never seen such a grand cornucopia even with the Night Sentinels.

"Well, let's dig in!" Hennya spoke as she began eating a dish of small colorful cubes with a pair of chopsticks.

"Ooofh! Don't mind if I- harr!" A disturbed Grimm enthusiastically tore off and began devouring the scaly wing of a Terror Bird, and the Marine scowled with disgust at the squelching sounds and flying bits of sizzling flesh. "Mmm, mmm. This is the best chicken wing I've ever had. Gulp!

Well, tell me, what's your chain-of-command?"

"We hardly have one. Our organizational structure is very decentralized.

The Warden oversees general matters aboard the ship, but she's appointed a leader for every major species and organizes the rarer ones, who then govern themselves. With so many beings from so many worlds, cultures, and advancement levels, a single fixed hierarchy is almost impossible."

"Gulp! How big is the Jericho? How many Forsworn warriors and species are there?"

"Diameter is around nine kilometers. Population is about…one hundred and forty thousand, from twelve hundred distinct species, I believe."

"Shame- gulp! Shame it's not a dinner-and-show!"

"Oh, give him a minute," Hennya aloofly replied. "He'll be here any time now."

Grimm made a muffled "Who?" beneath a mouth full of food.

BOOM! The hall doors slammed open with a roaring gust of flame.

"Him."

WHOOSH! A darting red shape shot from the doorway while trailing sparks like a rocket. The Marine caught sight of bat-like wings before the chamber erupted with thunderous cheers.

"HELLOOOOOO JERICHO!" The dragonoid Guncaster yelled from the ceiling before plummeting to the ground and sliding between the tables in a wave of sparks, high-fiving the limbs of all the warriors that reached out for him. The alien struck a dramatic kneeling pose upon reaching the elevated platform with a wide grin, but the hall was positively roaring with applause.

"Who's that guy?!" A vivid Grimm beamed.

"Cygnis Flaynithere. He comes from one of the worlds destroyed by the Serpent Riders, but he's clearly doing just fine."

"Wow! What is he?!"

"He's a…hmm. I don't know."

"Well, whatever he is, he's fuckin awesome!"

He's not that awesome, the Marine sourly thought.

Grimm joined the vivid applause as the dragonoid unexpectedly flew up to the high table.

"My liege, in the flesh!" He addressed the Imperator while taking a knee. "It's good to see you return!"

"You're late, Cygnis." The Dark Lord said bluntly.

"But I'm FASHIONABLY late, my liege! You know me, I LOVE to make an entrance!" The hall cheered loudly at the dragonoid's remark.

"If only you were as committed to your duties, as you are to playing the hearts of our people."

"My liege, you wound me!" Exclaimed the Guncaster in mock offense. "When have I ever failed you? You know there is none more talented at reading the scry charts than I! And neither is there a better pilot in all of existence!"

"Hmm."

"And Warden!" The Guncaster declared as he darted over to the commander's side. "You look as grim and terrifying as ever!"

"Where I come from," the unimpressed Warden began, "dragons are holy beings of wisdom and strength."

"And right you are! My wisdom is to SPEAK LOUD AND CARRY A BIIIIG GUN!" The Guncaster suddenly brandished his blue railgun and primed it with a shrill hum, causing the crowd to cheer wildly. "What do you think, Warden? Better than your gunpowder cannons of old?"

"Gaudier."

"Black Knight!" The Guncaster moved on to the first of the High Three and slung his arm around the warrior's shoulders. "How's my old pal doing?!"

"Hmmm," came the grumbling reply.

"Me too! Love the sword, pal, but I still think you've gotta change that name! 'Dragon Slayer' might be insensitive to anyone here who identifies as a dragon!

And I would know, I have several friends who are dragons!"

The entire hall erupted in laughter but the Black Knight shoved the Guncaster aside.

"Haha! All right, all right! I can tell when I've overstayed my welcome!"

The Marine frowned in annoyance at the dragonoid's unruly performance, when the alien suddenly leapt and soared through the air before landing in the empty space on the table in front of him.

"And look what we have here, folks!" The Guncaster exclaimed as he wrapped an arm around a bewildered Marine. "A newcomer to our ranks, a mean green marine from Earth!

What's your name, soldier?"

If you don't get your filthy claws off me, Your Worst Fucking Nightmare.

"'Your Worst Fucking Nightmare!' Fascinating surname! You must be where my mother-in-law is from!"

More laughter from the Forsworn and from Grimm beside him, and the Guncaster let him go.

"I hear you've barely arrived and you're already carving out a name for yourself! Walking up to the biggest toughest Spartan in the yard and getting right to business! Shame it didn't turn out as expected!"

Uggghhh.

"Seriously, I've never heard of someone blocking that many punches with their face! I bet you were hungry for a hearty breakfast, cuz you ate the full-course buffet at the knuckle sandwich house!"

The hall clamored with raucous laughter. Grimm's face was red with hysteria and even Hennya lightly chuckled from her meal. The Marine glowered indignantly.

"Ha ha! But seriously, folks. But seriously," the Guncaster raised his arms to placate the crowd. "I feel our new friend here deserves some commendation. Few beings can claim to intentionally cross paths with a Spartan, and fewer yet to survive the encounter!

Let's give the greenie a big hand of applause, for the toughest jaw I've seen yet and the heaviest pair of balls this side of a black hole binary system!"

The Forsworn cheered and applauded, but the annoyed Marine only smacked his face into the table in embarrassment. The Guncaster then soared through the air to land in front of the gate, and Grimm stood up to yell at the alien.

"I LOVE YOU, CYGNIS!"

"AND I LOVE YOU, RANDOM HUMAN!" He promptly replied while stylishly pointing at the soldier. The crowd cheered louder, and the Guncaster backed towards the gates while high-fiving nearby warriors.

"You've been a lovely audience, folks. Two drink minimum. And don't forget to try the Shirley Temple!

It's only half as fruity as its name, I promise."

"Show us the fire!" A warrior shouted from the crowd, which loudly cheered in agreement.

"What's that?!" The Guncaster excitedly asked.

"The fire!"

"Give us the fire!"

"You want the fire?!"

"Yes!"

"Yeah!"

The Guncaster stylishly dropped to his knee and struck a pose.

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE FIRE!"

"Do it!"

The Guncaster rose to his feet, deeply breathed in, and roared.

"ROOOOAAAAWWWWRRRR!"

A crimson firestorm erupted from his mouth and shot upwards at the ceiling, sweeping across the spandrels and descending back onto the crowd in a rain of embers. The Marine could feel the sweltering heat even from his position. The crowd thundered with applause before the Guncaster spun with a swirl of flame and was gone.

"WOO! Haha! That Cygnis is wild!"

"Yup." Hennya remarked without looking up from her plate. "Real charmer, that one."

"Come on, big guy!" Grimm suddenly yelled as he slapped the Marine's back. "You haven't eaten a single thing! You gotta try some of this shit out!"

I'm not terribly hungr-

"You should try the spidertree fruits," spoke Hennya. "Those are real succulent."

I'm not a fan of biting into fruit and feeling spiders crawling in my mouth.

"How about these?" Grimm interjected. "Hard boiled imp eggs?

I'm telling you, you haven't lived until you eat one of these suckers in one bite."

Grimm peeled back a scaly orange egg and held it like a shot glass, the veiny yolk and developing hatchling visible from the top.

"Cheers," he said before drinking from the egg and ingesting its contents with one gulp.

An involuntary gag rose from the Marine's throat and his eye twitched.

You know, I think I had a doctor's appointment to get to-

"There's roasted Pinky, if you want," the shrine maiden commented as she sipped from a shallow bowl of sake, and the Marine turned towards the steaming red meat with a grumbling stomach and watering mouth.

…I mean, I guess I could have a bite or two.

He pulled a plate and served himself a portion of the sizzling demonic pork, opening the induction port on his helmet and passing small bits of meat into his mouth. It was hot, the charred outside was crunchy and the inside was tender, filling his mouth with the savory fluids of cooked blood, oil, and the faint tinge of sulfur.

It was alright.

"Heh, won't even take off your helmet to eat, big guy?"

Helmet stays on.

"You want some beer to wash that down?"

The Marine didn't drink alcohol. Growing up with his father had dissuaded him of that habit.

Just hand me that water.

"Nice.

So Tyri! Tell me, what's the dating situation around here?"

Hennya dropped her hands onto the table and looked at Grimm with raised eyebrows.

"OH, trust me, you don't wanna go there. Forsworn women are nothing like those you've met anywhere else. They are ruthless…"

"Yeah?"

"...battle-hardened…"

"Yeah?!"

"...they could lift you with one hand and snap you in half with the other."

"Aaaahh!" A positively thrilled Grimm beamed. "Who are the toughest chicks around here? You know, so I know which ones to stay away from."

Liar, thought the Marine when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"The mark on your hand is gone," said the shrine maiden.

Yeah, what about it? He scowled at the girl and returned to his meal.

"You see those tall women in the golden armor?" Hennya continued as she pointed into the crowd. "Those are Amazons.

With only spear and shield, they protected their homeland against demonic invasion for a thousand years, and even managed to fight off Hercules when he invaded them on his Ninth labor."

The Marine had once met Hercules. A crippled Spartan infant thrown off a cliff could have fought the man off.

"If the mark on your hand is gone," asked the shrine maiden, "does that mean you're not the Slayer anymore?"

Of course I'm still the Slayer.

"And that lady over there, the Pale Lady."

"No way!" Grimm exclaimed when he caught sight of the mild-mannered white-haired woman in a long black dress. "Her?"

"You don't believe me? She was a sniper for the Red Army back in your second World War."

Where the FUCK are you from?! The Marine suddenly flared.

"Oh, I'm from around," Hennya replied without missing a beat.

How do you know my Earth's history? Are you from an alien society? A lost pocket dimension? The future?

"I can't tell you."

TELL ME!

Hennya's eyes suddenly glared a blinding electric blue and her hair levitated with arcane power as she spoke in a thunderous alien voice.

"HUMAN, DO YOU HAVE THE SLIGHTEST IDEA WHAT I AM? I AM A TENNO, A WARRIOR-GODDESS THAT HAS SCOURED THE COLD DEPTHS OF NAMELESS VOIDS.

I HAVE PLUNGED INTO BLINDING HELLSPACES WHERE SCIENCE AND REASON ARE ILLUSIONS.

I HAVE STARED THE OLD GODS IN THE EYES AND LAUGHED IN THEIR FACES.

CHALLENGE ME, AND YOU WILL LEARN WHY NOW-EXTINCT EMPIRES ONCE CALLED ME 'THE DEMON WARFRAME.'"

The sudden commanding tone and resonant aura was enough to catch the Marine off guard, and he scowled but sourly dropped the subject. Hennya returned to normal and continued conversing with a stunned Grimm.

"As I was saying, the Pale Lady lost her eyes in an attack from demons captured by the Germans, but she picked up her rifle once more and let her faith guide her shots.

Legend says she once killed a Cacodemon with a bullet through the eye five kilometers away."

Grimm's jaw dropped.

"I'm told she was little more than a pile of meat when the Forsworn found her in Hell, but she was still kicking. We rebuilt her, gave her a cybernetic body and new eyes, but she still wears that blindfold as a reminder of times past.

She can take down fifty demons with just a sword. A literal cold-blooded killing machine."

Grimm scoffed in astonishment.

Good luck dating an android girl, slick. Hope you got a hand you don't mind losing, the Marine thought when he felt another tap on his shoulder.

"Now that you're no longer the Slayer," asked the shrine maiden, "will there be another Slayer?"

What- no! Buzz off, kid.

A pack of four black-suited Spartans with notably wolf-like helmets walked past the group and sat on the opposite bench. Hennya turned around to look at them.

"Who are those?" Grimm asked.

"The Black Wolves. An elite Spartan fireteam serving under the command of the Black Knight."

"Why are we looking at them?"

"Just watch."

The Spartans pulled their helmets off and to the men's surprise revealed four women with dark ashen skin, glaring fiery eyes, wild unkempt hair, and two wolf-like ears twitching atop their heads. They promptly tore the legs off the carcasses of demon fowl-birds and snarled as they dug into the raw meat with gleaming canine fangs.

"WHOA!" Grimm exclaimed. "Are they hellhounds?!"

"Technically demihounds. They were infused by the Spirit of the Wolf during their augmentation, the same beast of darkness that haunts the Black Knight's nightmares.

They're unmatched hunters and ferocious killers, but their aggression borders on the animalistic and their helmets are designed to keep them from feasting on their slain opponents."

"Oooooh!"

The Marine raised an eyebrow at Grimm in a mixture of disapproval and disgust.

You're into monster girls? Monster fucker.

Another tap on his shoulder, and the Marine sighed in exasperation.

"Do you think there could be a Slayer from an alien species?" Asked the shrine maiden.

No.

"What about one who's a demon?"

No!

"An Asian one?"

There's NOT going to be another Slayer!

Step. Step. Step. The group turned around as a Verimor warrior marched down one of the adjacent walkways. The alien was short for its kind yet still towered over the other Forsworn at four meters tall, with a sleek sporty chassis and feminine humanoid appearance.

"Whew!" Grimm whistled at the robot's gleaming red and steel-gray chassis, razor-sharp spires, and electric yellow eyes.

"That's a Verimor. One of the oldest and most powerful races in the universe. Their civilization numbers in the billions of years old, and no one knows the true extent of how far their technology has advanced, or how large their life-forms can grow."

"That is one fine piece of machinery."

"She does have a nice figure."

Both Grimm and the Marine raised their eyebrows at Hennya.

"What? Just admiring the biomechanics."

Suddenly, the Verimor female morphed into a compact alienoid motorcycle-like form and sped out of the chamber with an echoing engine roar.

Grimm turned to the Marine with a gleam in his eye. "That's one bike I wouldn't mind riding! Heh? Heh?" He exclaimed while elbowing the Marine in the ribs.

The Marine scowled and took a drink from the water pitcher.

The shrine maiden spoke up. "Can there be a girl Slayer?"

PFFFFFFFT!

The Marine choked and involuntarily spat a hissing stream of water at a Sangheili warrior beside Hennya, which exclaimed in anger and surprise.

"Aaarrggh!"

The Marine coughed and hit his chest as water dripped from his nose, and the disgusted Sangheili rose from the table and marched towards the exit.

"Ei jhuf rezigorj…" the alien muttered under its breath.

The livid Marine breathed in and turned to face the shrine maiden.

Okay! Listen up, you little glassy-eyed snot-faced brat!

There's not going to be an alien Slayer, or an Asian Slayer, or a girl Slayer, or a sideshave shemale Slayer with a cyborg cock implant!

The title 'Slayer' isn't something that is fucking passed down! And neither is the Praetor Suit! Not any shithead can become a 'Slayer' simply by identifying as one!

You don't become a 'Slayer' once you reach a highscore in demon kills, and the Praetor Suit isn't a fucking dime-a-dozen powersuit like the ones these Spartans wear!

'Doom Slayer' isn't a fucking video game achievement, bitch tits!

"Video game achie-?"

'Doom Slayer' refers to ME and ME alone! The title is MINE to bear and the Praetor Suit is MINE to wear!

In ALL the worlds in ALL the cosmos, in all of existence, there's only one and a single FUCKING one Doom Slayer, and that one is ME!

I don't know why the Praetor Suit's not working and I don't know why my strength is gone, but that doesn't make me any less the Doom Slayer!

So why don't you shut your pie hole, float on back to the glorious island of bad seafood, flimsy swords, and overcompensating robots you come from, and leave the adults at the grown-up table alone?!

"You're not very nice, are you?"

I am not 'nice!'

What, you cross into the actual infernal realm of HELL, seemingly regularly, you fight against some of the biggest monsters in all Creation that manifest pure evil incarnate, you live in a ship filled with a bunch of dysfunctional genocidal dickwads, and you can't handle a little mean language?

"The Forsworn don't bother me and I've dealt with evil spirits before, but you're being rude just for the sake of being rude.

Words hurt, you know."

Ugh. He signed and slammed his hands on the table. You would not have survived a minute in a deployment lobby with marines in a modern warfare setting.

"Would you?"

The Marine only frowned and reached for the shrine maiden's head, pulling loose and untying the bow holding her hair in place.

"HEYY!" She exclaimed with the first indication of anger as her hair came loose, drawing the attention of Grimm and Hennya.

"Ah, come on, big guy. Leave her alone."

She started it!

"All right, you've made your point," Grimm added as the shrine maiden angrily retied her hair.

"UGGHH!"

The three turned to the noise to find the humiliated Sangheili warrior confronting the Hellfire Spartan, the two taking aggressive poses and ready to come to blows. Without warning, the Spartan charged the alien and climbed onto its back while punching savagely at its head.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd chanted as the two combatants lurched against the tables and other warriors, and from the corner of his eye, the Marine could see the High Three and Warden turn to face the commotion.

A few moments later, four large Terracotta warriors manifested from the stone floor, bearing heavier armor and smoldering double-bladed staffs. The Terracotta Knights pried the two fighters apart and to the Marine's and Grimm's horror began stabbing them both with their weapons, much to the crowd's amusement.

The Terracotta Knights plunged their staffs into the warriors' hearts and the two slumped dead in the soldiers' grip, their bodies disintegrating into ethereal particles and vanishing. The Terracotta Knights sank back into the floor and the other Forsworn returned to their meals.

The Marine turned to Hennya for an explanation.

"Don't worry, they're fine. The Imperator has casted a latent immortality field throughout the Jericho. Ordinary death is not permanent within these walls.

Those two are gonna wake up aching and grouchy in the respawning cells, though."

Grimm suddenly gazed past the Marine at a group of aliens marching down the hall.

"Oh. My. GOD."

He was staring at a pack of three Mantid warriors, slim insectoids four meters tall with blank white face-masks, rugged armored carapaces, multiple viciously clawed arms, and notably protruding chests.

"What are they?"

"They're Mantids, a subset of the Hallowed Empire, another one of the oldest civilizations and perhaps the most masterful spellcrafters in the universe.

The Hallowed consist of many species like the Weavers, Formids, Hivelings, Luminoth, and Scorponids, but only the Mantids are really present among the Forsworn. Their clans are loyal, cunning, and terrifyingly fierce."

"Hmmmm."

"Oh, no!" Hennya suddenly exclaimed. "Reaper, listen to me, you are NOT interested in a Mantid woman! Their savagery makes the Black Wolves look like puppies!"

"I'm going for it."

"No, you're not-!"

"Can you introduce me? I want to make a good first impression."

Hennya sighed in defeat. "Ugghh!" She put her mask back on and ignited her ethereal energy hair as she stood up. "Wait here."

You ever see what mantises do with their mates, mate? She'll literally bite your head off, but clearly that's not the one you're thinking with anymore.

"You know, big guy. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take," Grimm remarked as he slicked his hair back with water from the pitcher.

Monster fucker.

Some distance away, Hennya drew her sword and held it sideways to block the Mantids' path and draw their attention. They couldn't hear the conversation between them, but moments later the Mantids glanced in the direction of Grimm and the Marine. They stepped past Hennya and headed in the direction of the two soldiers.

"Here she comes!"

Here she comes.

"I hope she doesn't mind shorter guys."

I hope you don't mind being dead.

The three insectoid aliens approached and stopped in front of the two soldiers.

"Hello, ladies. Name's Grimm. Nice to meet ya."

The central Mantid reached up to her face with one clawed hand. The shrine maiden plugged her ears and the Marine averted his gaze in anticipation.

God, I hate this part.

"What?"

The Mantid warrior pulled off her mask and revealed her true face to Grimm.

Her face was a monstrous kaleidoscope of alien eyes, her mouth a horrendous array of mandibles consisting of various spikes and sawblades which chittered in a deafening shrill that filled the whole world and shrieked into their heads like nails on a chalkboard. Two large compound eyes the color of midnight bored into his soul like endless black pits, while smaller eyes around them glinted like icy shards.

Several Forsworn warriors behind them screamed in horror at the grisly sight. Some gripped their heads in agony, some bled from their noses, others fell unconscious to the floor. Grimm, however, was entirely captivated.

After a few moments, the Mantid warrior reattached her blank facemask and the three aliens turned away from the chaos, leaving without a single word. The disoriented Forsworn stopped screaming and picked their unconscious companions up, and an awestruck Grimm smiled and looked at her leave.

"I am both…frightened…and aroused."

The Marine shook his head and returned to his meal.

"Woo! I think that's enough for me for one night.

What about you, big guy? Got someone special in your life?"

The Marine thought back to the brown-haired woman he kept seeing in his dreams. He still didn't know who she was, but he knew she'd once been someone special to him.

Yea.

"Oh, really? Sweet!

What's she like? What's her name?"

The Marine stopped with his hands holding Pinky meat in mid-air.

What's her name? He thought with a growing sensation of dread. I…don't know.

I can't remember.

"Oh, quit bugging the guy," Hennya quickly interjected as she took her mask off. "He doesn't care about that stuff. All he cares about is killing demons. Ripping and tearing, isn't that right?"

But the Marine was still gazing into the distance as the realization crashed upon him.

What was her name? What was her face? I can't remember. I forgot.

The shrine maiden turned to face him with slight alarm, and both Grimm's and Hennya's faces fell.

"Big guy?"

I forgot her name. I forgot.

His chest ached once more and his eyes began to water. Without warning, his gasping breath became ragged and tears ran down his eyes.

He was crying.

"Oh, no."

What was he doing?! He needed to get a grip on himself! He struggled to remain composed, but the tears kept flowing from his eyes and fogged the inside of his visor. His crying remained quiet but the sorrowful waves of psychic energy kept pouring from him and drew the confused attention of the other Forsworn beside him. Even the High Three, Warden, and Imperator at the high table turned in his direction.

Oh God. They can see me. They can all see me.

He stood up and turned to leave the table.

I have to go.

"Big guy-"

I've lost my appetite.

The Marine resealed the mouthport on his helmet and made an effort to leave the hall in a dignified manner, but it was no use. He trailed a grieving aura that drew the attention of the Forsworn even through his helmet and silence, who turned to look as he walked by.

He wanted to disappear. He wanted to crawl inside of a pit and die.

He passed through the gate and made his way into the darkness of the Jericho alone.

He was weak. He was so fucking weak and pathetic.

The Marine cried alone on the riverbank of the Jericho's forest enclave, feeling the cool moonlit water rush past his boots.

A true warrior would never rest or need help, let alone show vulnerability or be overcome by sentimentality. He was a disgrace to the marines and to the Night Sentinels.

He didn't deserve the Praetor Suit. He didn't deserve to be the Slayer.

Something rustled through the bushes.

Who's there?!

The tall dark figure slowly emerged from the shadows, crimson eyes glaring in the darkness, metallic mask glinting in the moonlight, and muscular arms clasped behind his back. The Marine blinked in surprise.

The Imperator walked up to him and stopped a distance away among the sweeping grass.

"May I sit here?" He spoke in a soft yet still booming voice.

…It's your ship.

The commander slowly walked up to him, crouched down and heavily sat beside him with pained grunts. The Marine raised an eyebrow.

The Imperator suddenly manifested a thin silver chain wrapped around his forearm, which he unclasped and held out to the Marine. There was a locket hanging from it.

"Do you recognize her?"

He took the locket and inspected the picture framed inside. It was a tattered black-and-white photograph of a young elegant woman, with fair features, sad eyes, and a slim crown atop her bound hair. The Marine had never seen her before.

No, he admitted as he handed the locket back.

The Imperator took it and gazed at it. "She was a princess, who could've been a queen.

She had it all. Power, vision, perfection. The Angels themselves beneath her broken wings.

I was only a man back then. I was supposed to protect her. That was my duty.

But when the attack came and her Ivory Tower fell, I couldn't be there for her.

She is gone now, and no one is to blame but me."

The Marine frowned in confusion. The Imperator wrapped the chain and locket around his forearm once more, which then vanished. He then reached up to his face and pulled the half mask off, breathing deeply in the cool midnight air.

…Wait. Wait, I know you, The Marine thought as he beheld the man's face.

"You remember me?"

I was there at your world. All those years ago. The bombs had already dropped, and you were barely setting out onto the haunted surface.

The Imperator nodded in confirmation.

What are you doing here?

"I could ask you the same now."

The Marine paused as he pondered his answer.

I…don't want to talk about it.

"You don't have to. Sometimes, the best you can do is listen."

The Imperator reattached his face mask and breathed deeply in.

"Look, Slayer. I know where you come from. I know what you've been through and the path of torment you choose to walk.

The Forsworn have already lost. They've failed in their missions and live condemned existences within this cursed realm, having turned their backs on their faiths and homelands, but you…There is still hope for you.

There is still a world for you to save, and you still have a purpose to fulfill."

How? I'm not strong. I'm not as strong as I thought I was. Why can't one of the Forsworn take up my mission? There are those here that are much stronger than I am.

"This is not their story.

It is yours."

The Marine scoffed. His story was a fucking disappointment.

"If you compare yourself to others and hold yourself to their same standards, you will never reach your truest potential. This isn't about them, you must embrace what is special about you."

The Slayer couldn't understand. How did you find me?

"It was revealed to me in a dream. I had a vision of you plunging into Hell once more, and I knew you would fall, so I commanded the Forsworn to your aid. I held the largest opponents back while the others extracted you.

There are forces beyond your sight involved, Slayer, that just as well seek to assist you."

The Imperator paused to breathe in the cool midnight air and turn towards the simulated moon, no doubt absorbing the soft wind and sounds of running water. The Marine was fascinated. There was a pervasive sense of peace surrounding the warlord, in stark contrast to his ominous appearance, imposing aura, and the apocalyptic reputation that preceded him.

Even Dark Lords could find peace. Warriors facing their own deaths, soldiers that committed unpardonable sins. Yet the same evaded the Marine.

He wore a mask, much like himself. His face hadn't been withered or monstrous like the Marine expected, but did he cover himself because he no longer recognized the face in his reflections?

He thought back to himself. Why did he never remove his helmet? Was it because the helmet had become his face? He'd forgotten the face of the brown-haired woman he kept seeing in his dreams, had he forgotten his own as well?

If he took off his helmet and looked in a mirror, what would he see reflected back?

The Imperator broke the silence. "Listen. I know it's easy to fall into that thinking. To consider yourself worthless because of your failures and defeats, but that's not true at all.

There is no weakness in losing, only in giving up.

You are not strong because you triumph over the demons. You are strong because you have the courage to face them."

What do you mean?

The Imperator stood up and beckoned at the Marine. "Come with me."

The Marine stood back up and before he knew it, the Imperator had already placed his hand on his shoulder and teleported them both to a tall dark hallway of the Jericho.

Woah.

The hall was flanked by those same colossal statues of masked humanoids with rifle-swords, who gazed impassively at them as they walked past.

Are they yours?

"Yes. These were my Hellrunners.

In my past, I was a dreadful warlord. I commanded millions, conquered billions, and slaughtered trillions.

With an iron fist, I restored order to my home and spread my dominion across realms and dimensions far, but there came a time when I realized I was no longer required.

My world no longer needed a tyrant, but wise leaders that could walk and live among them. My world had faced war long enough, and it finally deserved peace.

So I retreated. I yielded my throne, laid my armies to rest, and journeyed alone into this cursed realm as my world underwent the long road to healing.

That was when I encountered the Vadrigar."

The mechanical aperture at the end of the hall opened as they approached, and the two stepped into a wide chamber illuminated by a dazzling violet light. The chamber was carved from marble and surrounded by towering pillars. At the center of the chamber floated a colossal resplendent crystal that emanated arcane power, surrounded by machinery that collected and redirected its energy.

They walked along a marble ramp that curved upwards along the side of the crystal, to the platform at the end of which stood the short pale figure of the High Priestess.

"The power core is operating at full capacity, my liege. But…?" She hesitantly asked when she saw the Marine beside the Imperator.

"It's all right, I'll take it from here. Get some rest, little one."

The High Priestess bowed and walked past the two. "Good night, my liege."

"Good night, little one."

The Imperator walked up to the crystal and raised his hands, projecting and manipulating mystical glowing charts and graphs he cast from empty air.

"Your reality is much different from mine. My reality is not one of flesh and metal, but stone and bone. Yours is explicit, less surreal, more physical. There is no room for the arcane or abstract here."

He altered one symbol and the power crystal began crackling wildly, spinning out of control as the machinery surrounding it sparked. The Marine raised his hands in alarm but the warlord calmly spun back a mystical dial and the crystal returned to normal.

"This world was not meant for me. I don't belong here."

The Marine blinked in confusion until he realized the warlord's meaning.

You're leaving.

"Not today. Not tomorrow. But a day will come when I must depart the Forsworn, and return to my world to lay down to rest. My watch has lasted long enough, and I hope to see it end."

But without you…

"What comes to happen, will happen. I imagine you're not familiar with the Loremaster?"

No.

"The Loremaster is a nonaligned deity that operates from Limbo, the no-man's-land between Immortal Realms. I don't trust him and he doesn't trust me, but he studies and keeps chronicles on all matters across Creation, from far history to present affairs to distant future, and last I conversed with him, he raised dire warnings.

The seals around Tartarus are breaking."

Oh fuck.

"Indeed. With every demonic invasion launched, the Old Gods of your universe rustle in their sleep. Even the other Immortal Realms besides Heaven and Hell become fearful by the increasing attacks.

And that's not all. There are more reports of greater demons, commanded directly by the Heresiarchs, serving their dark masters across the dimensions. It may not be long before we see a demon lord, serving and blessed by none other than the Nameless One himself."

Ohhhh…

"Even the Void grows restless. The black sea of nothingness at the edge of Creation beckons for a master to unite it under one will, something that may ultimately prove necessary.

Whoever unites the Void would gain the ultimate power in all Creation. The power of pure inexistence."

…You can't possibly mean-?

"I will not do it. The Loremaster fears I will unite the Void, and I myself fear what may come if I do.

That is why I founded the Forsworn. The greatest champions from all ages and all worlds, the mightiest warriors in the fight against Hell, ending the reign of Heresiarchs and putting an end to the Nameless One once and for all."

And you would lead them?

"No," the Imperator firmly declared as he spun around to face the Marine. "You will."

The Marine stared blankly at the warlord and sighed.

You've got the wrong man. I'm not a warlord, a conqueror, or a commander. I'm just a destroyer. I only bring death and ruin, I can't be their leader.

"You'll be more than that. You'll be their hero, and you'll be their king."

How? I've lost all my strength. I've lost the Praetor Suit. I've lost everything I held dear, and I'm losing fight after fight.

The Night Sentinels believed in me, and I failed them.

I'm not a hero. I can't be a leader, and I'm unworthy of being king.

"You're worthy," the Imperator assured as he laid his hand on the Marine's shoulder, "because you haven't lost one thing: your fire. Because after endless fighting and unspeakable torment, that flame still burns in you.

There's a hero in you, Slayer. Everyone sees it.

The Forsworn see it. The Warden sees it. Typhon sees it. They push you so hard because they see it. I see it.

Now you need to see it!"

The Marine felt overwhelmed. It was all so daunting, like he had the world resting atop his shoulders.

"Listen to me," the Imperator urged as he grabbed the Marine's other shoulder and looked him in the eye. "True strength lies not in conquering every battle, but in having the courage to keep fighting.

You don't have to win every fight. What matters is living to fight another day."

The Marine stared at the Imperator and felt his words echo in his mind.

True strength lies…not in winning, but in not giving up? It felt strange. It went against everything the Marine knew and everything he'd come to accept.

The Imperator sighed and backed away.

"You know, I didn't recruit the Forsworn on my own. I offered them shelter and protection, but they all still had a fire within them, one lit by someone else. A legend whispered by peoples throughout the cosmos, one that reaches further across worlds and ages than you could ever know.

There was once an idea. The idea that against all evil, all wickedness and malice that could ever exist, there would be a man. One man to fight for everything that was pure and innocent, right and just in the world. One man that walked the darkness where none would, and brought justice where none could. One that faced impossible odds and held the line against overwhelming evil.

This hero was incorruptible. Undying. Unbreakable. A paragon of strength in a bleak world, and a beacon of hope all did admire. One that all looked up to, even strived to be like."

The Marine was surprised. Someone else helped found the Forsworn, a champion and hero to the peoples of the cosmos?

Really? Who was it?

The Imperator released a low chuckle.

"It's true, we are all blind to our weaknesses, but we're also blind to our true strengths.

One day, Slayer, you'll understand. And when you're ready, if you choose to take it, that crown will be yours."

The warlord patted the Marine's shoulder. He said nothing, but lowered his head and let the words settle into his heart.

He scoffed. I didn't expect such wisdom from a Dark Lord.

"I learned from the best. Master Wan is a great teacher."

The Marine looked up. You studied under Wan?

The Imperator nodded. "He taught me patience, focus, discipline.

He also taught me his Serious Punch. It formed the basis…"

The Imperator suddenly stepped out and thrust his right fist forward, a technique clearly based on but firmer and more militaristic than Wan's. There was no devastating shockwave produced but the Marine could feel the very restraint and massive power contained behind the warlord's stonelike fist.

"...for my Thunder Punch. If you ask him, he will teach you too."

The Marine thought about it but nodded.

"Speaking of which, I have something to show you."

The Imperator held out his hands and in them manifested a firearm. Rich carved wood, glinting metal, and an electric red crystal mounted beneath the two barrels.

Whoa! The Marine thought as he gently took the double-barreled shotgun. Is this yours?

"I built it myself. It utilizes explosive shells, and the crystal discharges explosive lightning bolts.

Its name is Shellshocker."

The Marine chuckled as he inspected the weapon. The craftsmanship was impeccable, its power was palpable, and its name was simple, direct, and clever.

I dig it, he thought as he felt the weight and heft of the firearm in his hands. It was much heavier than his current super shotgun but comparable to his ancient Retribution. There'll never be a shortage of glowing swords, laser guns, and magic powers to go around, but for my money, the most important weapon in any warrior's arsenal is the simple, old-fashioned, and reliable double-barreled shotgun.

"I built it…with inspiration from your own."

The Marine looked up from the firearm.

I…inspired you?

The Imperator nodded. "What do you think? Is it a…worthy weapon?"

The Marine grinned and nodded at the firearm in his hands.

It's fantastic.

Hmm. If I were you, I would wire the electrocrystal discharge circuit to be continuously live instead of activated only when you press the secondary trigger. You save yourself the cast time and have it released as soon as you pull the trigger.

"But these electrocrystals are exceedingly unstable. Won't that cause the energy to feed back and overload?"

Not if you install a venting system for when the crystal is fully charged. The discharge function will recharge on its own, and you can leave the circuit active without worry of overloading. Any excess energy will be safely vented.

"I see."

The Marine handed the firearm back to the Imperator, who took it and dispelled it back into thin air.

Thank you…for your wisdom.

"Of course. And thank you, for taking it."

Hiro and Elena sat with their backs against the wall in the Lazarus Labs. The sounds of gunfire and roars of shrieking demons echoed in the distance, but the survivors paid them no mind.

The gunslinger painfully coughed and grabbed his injured arm.

"So…the Doom Marine," he began. "What do you reckon he is?"

"I'm not sure."

"That hologram of Doctor Pierce said he was present at all those worlds. Phobos, Argent D'Nur, Mars in the past, Mars now. Right before all those worlds were invaded and destroyed by demons.

Almost like, Hell follows him."

"But, Agent Taylor said he fights the demons. She said he opposes them."

"Miss, the demons already oppose each other. They fight and kill one another by their simple nature.

You remember how Agent Taylor became stronger the more she became demonized? Someone with as much strength to fight demons the way the Doom Marine does…must be a demonized human of the greatest degree.

Hell follows him because he's own of their own. Maybe even Rogers was right.

Maybe he really is their king."

Elena said nothing but looked down at the ground, quietly contemplating the implications.

"If that's the source of his power, that must be why…Agent Taylor knew something. The Doom Marine was contained here on Mars before the invasion occured. Doctor Hayden was the one who released him.

The UAC also kept demons, studied them and exploited them. There'd been many breaches, but Hayden never released him until today. He was the last-case contingency plan."

"Because he is the enemy of mankind."

Elena slowly nodded.

"Damn. And now he's out there somewhere, no doubt setting his sights on Earth. Wish we could have warned them."

The gunfire had stopped. The two could hear marching footsteps approaching from the adjacent corridors, and Elena shuddered as she felt the presence of the soldiers without names.

"I'm sorry, miss," Hiro consoled as he placed his arm around her. "I'm sorry Agent Taylor didn't make it back.

I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of here."

A tear rolled from Elena's eye and she rested her head on the gunslinger's shoulder.

"Elena. My name's Elena."

I entered a transportation deck after leaving the Foundry, filled with pallets and trolleys carrying cargo crates. My upgraded radar showed no enemies nearby, so I allowed myself to lower my guard somewhat as I investigated certain open crates.

They were filled with tools and equipment for research, excavation, mining, maintenance. Oddly enough, I even one containing aquatic envirosuits.

"Dive suits? What the hell are dive suits doing on a planetary colony?"

"Don't you know?" Colonel Johnson responded. "Europa has an underground ocean of water beneath the ice layer.

Extends for miles beneath the surface. Has more water than all the oceans of Earth combined."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

They must be diving to search for minerals. Maybe that's how this entire colony first started, I thought as I left the dive suits behind and moved on.

"John."

I'd seen it. An ominous red crate in stark contrast to the steel-gray boxes behind it, bearing a dark and sinister sigil on its casing. Walking over to it and looking over the open edge, I found it full of small carved artifacts. I picked one up and observed the familiar biomechanical surface.

"These aren't just any demonic relics, they're Deraki artifacts.

And these aren't just trinkets, they're serums to create stimulants. Trigger cores for guns. Soul orbs. Mind-control drives. Seeds for…organic armor suits?

My God. This is high-level shit.

Mixom couldn't have stolen this from the Deraki."

"Mixom made a bargain with the Deraki. In exchange for objects of interest, the Deraki would give them artifacts and technologies of great power."

"What does Mixom have that the Deraki could possibly want?"

"That's what I'm still trying to find out."

I perused through the artifact some more looking for anything of use when I found it.

"Whoa!"

I reached in and pulled out a strange device consisting of several fleshy growths pulsating around a mechanical core. The device cast a fiery glow and was palpably radiating power.

"I'll put this one to very good use."

Checking my motion tracker to ensure I was alone, I opened my chassis and brought the device close to my core and beating Heart of Lothar before igniting the device and placing it inside.

FWOOOOSH!

"WHOA-HO-HO-HO!"

The fleshy device ignited and released crackling fiery tissue into my body as I levitated into the air in a vortex of arcane power. The artifact was absorbed into my chassis, the energy dissipated, and I fell to the floor as my chestplate sealed once more.

Checking my HUD, I found the red bar that displayed my health had permanently doubled in size.

"Now we're COOKING with GAS!"

The Marine breathed weakly within his chamber. He hadn't slept in almost two weeks and hardly eaten in that time either. His mind was clouded by a dense fog that made thought all but impossible. He was drenched in sweat, his lacerations had split open and resumed bleeding, and he felt crushed beneath an unfathomable exhaustion.

But still he forced himself to stay awake. He couldn't go back to sleep. He couldn't endure anymore the dreams of longing, or the nightmares of past and future. What if he closed his eyes and a thousand years passed before he woke up again? What if he never awoke at all?

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands shaking as he clenched the sheets, feeling his life seeping with every breath he took and his vision wobbling in and out of focus. He was festering, rotting in both mind and body. Dying.

Tap tap tap. Someone knocked lightly on the door. He made no response. The door creaked open and a lone dark figure passed through, who closed the door again as she approached him.

If Valeria's servant was surprised by seeing the Marine in such a state, she made no indication of it. With a dry towel, the hooded servant wiped his forehead, chest, and back, the bandages wrapped around his body drenched in sweat and blood. She unraveled the bandages around his arms and cleaned his wounds with healing elixir before redressing them with new bandages. Still, the Marine made no response.

The servant then began unraveling the bandages around his chest that covered the ghastly lesion over his heart. She pulled the bindings but these were matted together and wouldn't come undone. She calmly reached into her cloak and pulled a silver dagger.

THERE!

In an abrupt surge of violence, the Marine grabbed the servant's hand and pinned her by the throat to the wall as her hood and veil came down, finding himself staring into the golden eyes of the horned red-skinned Succubus.

Did you hope to find me defenseless?

The demon did not choke as he held it to the wall even with his reduced strength, only painfully squirmed and gazed at him in a manner that mimicked supplication.

You made a mistake to come here, Succubus.

"...Please, my lord. I am no Succubus."

The demon spoke. Not in a sensuous infernal tongue, but in ancient Hebrew and with the hushed and pained voice of an ordinary human woman. Her other hand rested on the Marine's arm which clutched at her throat but she did not retaliate or make any effort to release his grip.

"I am a nymph, cursed to this form by my sin in mortal life.

My name…ugh. My name is Dahlia."

The Marine thrust her against the wall again and cracked the stone to silence her.

I don't give a fuck what you call yourself, demon.

The demon squinted in pain and struggled to speak through the Marine's steel grip.

"...Please, my lord…I only wish to help…"

Hissing in anger, the Marine released his grip and thrust the demon away as he wrestled the knife from her hand. She landed upon the bed and gazed at him with a fearful expression, her cloak falling open to reveal a crimson body and simple servant's clothes.

Do you think I am stupid? I know what your kind is like, he thought as he approached her with knife in hand, limping on legs which threatened to collapse from exhaustion. Lecherous, treacherous, vulturous. How many warriors did you lead to their death?

How many men did you steal their lives from?

The demon's mouth made a movement as if stifling a cry, an act that the Marine didn't fall for. Leaping on top of her, he pinned her to the bed and shifted his grip on the knife.

Did you really think I would be such easy prey?

I've killed BIGGER, and worse than you.

"My lord, I assure you…I swear no fealty to Hell or its dark masters."

Save your breath, harlot. I've grown immune to the witchery of your foul kind.

The Marine took a grip of both her hands and pressed his helmeted face close to hers. A sweet scent of spices filled his nose, but did not dissuade his intentions.

I've slaughtered millions of vermin like you, and you will not be the last.

He raised the demon's hands above her head to expose her heart, and raised the knife above himself as his hand ignited in crimson flames. The demon looked away and closed her eyes. A scorching fury blazed within the Marine's heart and an ancient vow reverberated in his mind.

Burn the heretic. Kill the demon. Purge the sinner.

There is no innocence, only guilt.

There is no forgiveness, only execution.

May God forgive their souls once they kneel before His presence.

May a thousand innocents perish before a single one kneels to Hell.

SUFFER NOT THE UNCLEAN TO LIVE.

His arm tensed and he prepared to bring the blade down when a sudden glint caught his gaze, a single fiery tear running from the demon's shut eyes. His grip wavered and his frown faded.

A tear? The demon was…crying?

He had never known a demon to cry.

She was crying. Not snarling at him or attempting to rip his throat out, but quietly weeping with soft stifled cries. She hadn't responded with aggression or even begged for her life.

Looking down from the demon's face, the Marine saw the many scars and bruises across her body, concealed by her red skin. They weren't the marks of demon infighting, but scratches and attacks from alien and human hands. He could already see the welts on her throat from his own hand, directly above the golden Star of David hanging by a simple twine.

That night, when he saw her in the river under the moonlight…she wasn't bathing, she was baptizing herself. In the chapel where he saw her praying…she was making peace with her God. She wasn't fighting back because she knew she was about to die.

She came into his chamber so that he would kill her.

His chest grew tight. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes watered. With shaking hands, the flames around the knife dispelled and the dagger clattered loudly to the floor, causing the nymph to jump and her golden eyes to open in startlement.

The Forsworn. The Imperator. Taylor. How long had they been exposed to Hell that the Dark Realm corroded their bodies and corrupted their souls? What mistakes did they commit that their sins altered their very being, their shame marked on their faces?

If he took his helmet off and gazed in a mirror, what would he find gazing back?

The Marine fell back with mouth open in abject horror and tears pouring from his eyes, horrified at what he'd been about to do and what he'd resolved himself to.

Oh, God. How did I end this way? Where did I go wrong?

What have I become?

Dahlia sat up on the bed and gazed at the Marine with endless confusion. "My lord…why do you weep?"

He cried harder. His curse of silence prevented him from making even the slightest sound, but he gasped and heaved as he looked away to hide his shame from the woman.

Warily, the nymph crawled along the bed until she reached him. The Marine drowned in his own sorrow too much to notice.

Suddenly, he felt soft hands on his helmet. The nymph gently turned his head towards her and pressed her forehead against his, and he felt her siphon his grief away, the pain and remorse melting until they were faded. The nymph backed away and looked at him with bright golden eyes, which still wept bright fiery tears.

He felt hurt. So cold. Empty. Lonely.

Did she feel the same?

The Marine raised his hand to the nymph's face and caressed her cheek. Her eyes closed and she shuddered at the touch, slowly raising both hands to clasp his hand with her own. He passed his fingers across her cheek, her eyes, her hair, her lips. Soft, not the impossible softness of a Succubus, but the worldly tenderness of an ordinary human.

If he looked her in the eye and showed the broken things inside, would she run away?

His hand moved lower, caressing the curves of her neck until he reached the tattered fabric around her chest. With a mind fogged by exhaustion, his hand seemed to act on its own and slowly pulled the fabric off. The nymph closed her eyes and sighed at the contact, and as he began to caress her, she released a quiet moan while biting her lower lip.

This wasn't right. None of this was right, a voice urged at the back of the Marine's head. She was a demon, he was the Slayer. This wasn't meant to happen. He backed away from the nymph but she reached out and grabbed his hand, and to his surprise he found himself unable to let go.

"It's all right, my lord."

She tentatively reached out to remove his helmet but he stopped her, holding her hands as he looked away in shame. He couldn't bear to have her see whatever lay behind the visor.

The nymph understood but pulled him back onto the bed on top of her, the two of them weeping as they gazed longingly at each other, racing hearts burning with desire. Her touch was warm, so warm. He felt he could die from her touch alone, as if his icy body would crumble and break. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt a tender touch.

If she saw his darkest parts, the wicked things inside his heart, would she run away?

Or was she the same?

The nymph spread her legs and brought him close to her. Two sinners abandoned by God, vagrant souls finding solace only in each other. His body burned with desire yet he felt as if drowning. Drunk on lust, drowning in her. She was his fire, his thrill, his death. His breath fogged in his visor and his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't hold back any longer, couldn't resist the call of Hell. He had ceased to be the Slayer regardless. If it all ended here, immolated in their love infernal, so be it.

"It's all right. Do as you wish with me.

Give me your pain. Give me your hate.

Give me your all."

KILLS - 2%

SECRETS - 27

TIME - 10:00