Chapter 2: New Purpose

When Tafford first opened his eyes, all he saw was red. At first he didn't try to get up, he didn't blink, he didn't move, he didn't even think. He was just comatose, and stayed that way for hours until exhaustion finally claimed him. It wasn't until he awoke for the second time that he began to come to himself, confusion and a sense of disbelief were his first feelings in this in this brave new world he found himself in. As he looked around he found himself in a wilderness of some sort, and by the plentiful sand, rock formations, and little vegetation, he guessed it was a wasteland. It was then it occurred to him to try and recall his most recent experiences, if he could recall how he ended up here, that might hold the key to getting out. He had been deployed with his squad to a factory complex to clear some jackboot holdouts, they had cleared some buildings on the way to the rally point in the courtyard and then-

…

It was at this moment that panic kicked in and he began to alternate between writhing on the ground, and scrambling wildly around the clearing he had been deposited in after- well after. He was dead! He was really, really dead and there was nothing he could do for himself anymore! There was nothing anyone could do for him anymore! Approximately forty five minutes later the scrambling and writhing gave way to lying motionlessness and rapid breathing as he had expended the boost that adrenaline had given him, and left him with a bad energy low. He was now forced to think and confront his situation. He was dead there was no doubt about that, but the very fact that he was here thinking these thoughts told him that he didn't simply cease to exist, so he had to figure out where he was and that meant scaling one of these rock formations to get a good survey of his surroundings. After getting up and scaling the tallest one that looked like it would support his weight, a task that took several minutes, he began to get a good view of his current location, and he liked what he saw less and less. Red skies, rocky terrain, nigh unbearable heat, little if any life around. If common lore of the afterlife were to be believed, well suffice to say, his suspicions were mounting by the second. But it wasn't until he decided to look up that really gave it away. Smack 'dab in the middle of the sky was a giant slowly rotating pentagram as if to mock him.

"Well I'll be damned"

he said aloud though the comedy of his remark was lost on him as his spirits, and will, were withering by the second. Dropping back down off the rocks, avoiding injury by luck more than effort, once he was on the ground he curled in on himself as a black, ashen despair engulfed him threatening to swallow his entire being whole. For the first time in so long he couldn't remember he began to whimper, and over the next few minutes his whimpers gradually turned into sobs, then cries, until finally he wept openly as the full gravity of his situation crashed down upon him like the earth on atlas. Hours, days, who knows how much time passed, but eventually he finally stopped. Despair was all he felt in this moment, he could think of no reason to get up, to find shelter, to do anything ever again, this was the end of all things. In this moment many thoughts came and went through his mind all of them shrouded by darkness. Places he would never go again, people he would never see again, things he would never do, all of these and more crowded his mind, and all of them tinged with bitter anguish and grief.

All, except one.

As he lie there, awash in a sea of his own darkness, one lone thought shone like a beacon through the storm. As scattered as his mind had become over the time he had been here, he did not consciously realize this, but what he did know was that the darkness that consumed his soul was not complete. In his mind he reached out for it, to identify the only source of hope he had left in all existence and after a few agonizing minutes of it being on the edge of his memory, but just on the other side of recall, he had it, a strange rune like symbol that he had seen years before. But a symbol on it's own wasn't enough to save him from the undertow of hopelessness that threatened to drown him, so he desperately racked his mind for every bit of information on it he could muster, and he was not dismayed. This was the symbol of a solider, no, a great warrior unlike any he had herd of before. A warrior clad in green armor and armed with the mightiest guns imaginable, one who not only survived an invasion by hell itself, but followed it back and willingly stayed to prevent any demon from ever threatening humanity again. If this were possible, if one man could survive and even win against all the powers of hell, then maybe he could too. On the tip of his tongue, he could almost make out a name, death killer? No, no that wasn't right. demon destroyer? No not that either. Doom crusher? Doom, now that sounded right, but Doom what? Doom smasher? Doom ripper, Doom Slayer- … That was it, that was the name of his new hero, NO … his new God.

The Doom Slayer

At this moment nothing was certain for Tafford, and he doubted anything ever would be again, but if by emulating this Doom Slayer he could not only survive, but thrive in this hellscape, then he would raise the Slayer's banner and face any danger this inferno could throw at him. And maybe, just maybe, things would get better. Even if only to the point where life was tolerable. He didn't know how a man like the Slayer was possible, but at this moment he didn't need to, and he didn't care. At this moment knowing such a hero even could exist was endlessly comforting, and perhaps more important, a wellspring of new hope. And from where he was laying, it's about all he would receive. And it was this knowledge that gave him the strength to stand, and take his first steps into the bravest world anyone has ever known. One might wonder how Tafford could be roused to action, and such deep belief, so quickly and so soon by mere thoughts alone, but think of it this way. If you were suddenly torn away from everything you had ever known and cared for, placed in a world that was cruel, hard, and actively malicious to the N-TH degree, and were soon to be thrust into the company of what only ought to be described as monsters, the ideal that there was someone- ANYONE –that not only survived these horrors, but prevailed against them, and there was nothing else of comfort to be had anywhere, that might be the only thing you needed. He walked back to where he had first awoken to his new reality. He saw the slowly fading outline of where he first lay, and surprisingly there was a small black bundle in it's center he had not noticed before. Picking it up for inspection reviled two items, a small charm on the end of a string depicting a butterfly with an eye above it surrounded by colors in the four cardinal directions. He recognized it immediately as his own necklace, as he wore it everyday for the last twelve years or so of his life. It was a mystery how it got here, as the only other things not part of the environment were the bundle itself and the clothes on his back. He disregarded these thoughts for now as they would not help him, but he made a point to revisit this issue later. The bundle itself turned out to be a baklava, an article for which he was immediately and immensely grateful. No matter what horrors he was to face in this new torturous existence, he would not have to show them his face. And so with marshaled courage and armed with newfound faith in a being mightier than all the forces of damnation, he set out in the direction of what looked like a road that he surveyed from his earlier vantage point. About an hour of walking brought him to said road, and walking along it to the west for several hours brought him to some kind of town. Surprisingly, it seemed fairly modern, electric lights and even some neon met his vision as he surveyed this hellish little burg. He didn't know what to expect from any settlements here, he didn't even know if there was any kind of society, or even just basic structure. But out of anything he might have predicted it wasn't this. He stayed on the outskirts for some minutes trying to memorize the general layout, and attempting to gauge the level of danger he would face within. Satisfied with his mental map and preliminary threat assessment, he marched forward into the unknown. At this moment some advice he had herd from captain Reyes came back to him, 'When your in deep trouble keep your eyes forward and look like you know what your doing.' This advice had already saved him once during the war, so he kept eyes front and tried to blend in. Many new sights greeted his eyes, not the least of which was the demons that called this dingy place home. During his long walk he had been mentally preparing himself for the kinds of mutated, warped, malformed creatures he would encounter here and this served him now. Even so, it took all he had not to stare. He made a ring around the outskirts of the town, it wasn't small, but not the largest town he had ever been to. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew when he found it. Apparently he still had lucky stars as he found what looked like a bar with a HELP WANTED sign in the window. He looked up at the sign,

Knock & Stagger

'Well the location may be hell, but that's a damn good name for a bar'

Tafford thought to himself. It wasn't too far from the edge of town in case he needed to retreat, and he would need a job sooner than later. And so he took the sign from the window, tried his best to act tough, and walked in to begin his new life in this realm of the damned.

7 Years Later

It was another day, Tafford was busing tables and cleaning dishes, his boss was in the back probably counting the days take and playing that electronic poker game of his, and the customers were varying levels of drunk, rowdy, and violent. All in all a good days business. Tafford thought nothing of it as he went out to sweep up some more broken bottles and wipe down the tables they came from. And it would've been just another day of business had it not been for one fateful broadcast coming in on the TV.

"And we're back at BWTR, you inbred hicks one and only source for news in this backward ass shithole you call home"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!"

yelled one of the patrons, half drunk. The affiliate then cut back to channel 666 from another forty five minute commercial break. Tafford thought nothing of this until a special segment was announced featuring none other than Charlotte Mange, princess of hell entire.

'There's a princess?'

Tafford questioned to himself, as he stopped busing the table he was on to look up at the TV. He was aware great swaths of hell were predominantly governed by various warlords known as 'overlords', and no one questioned the authority of the king & queen, but Tafford had honestly never herd of there being a princess. That meant she must have had such an insignificant role in the order and functioning of hell no one had ever seen fit to mention her, at least in this little backwater on the ass end of nowhere that he called home. Usually the patrons wouldn't give two shits about whatever thing was on the news unless it somehow benefited them, but on hearing that the princess herself was being featured, for some reason, that was enough to get them to quiet down to the point where all could hear, and pay enough attention to get the gist of what was said. The head anchor Katie Killjoy gave her usual intro with an abundance of false cheer and enthusiasm, laced with healthy doses of sarcasm and passive aggressiveness. But then something happened that had never happened before, the princess before the cameras that fed to the entire circle, if not all of hell, began to sing.

"I have a dream,

I'm here to tell,

about a wonderful fantastic new hotel!"

This was not like any musical group or act featured by the program before, with ear splitting volume, harsh lyrics, and little if any melody. This song was cheerful, enthusiastic, tuneful, and most importantly, sang of hope. This was something unheard of in hell, someone who actually had hope that there could be any way out of this torturous existence that wasn't on the end of an exterminator's blade. And what's more it sounded like she actually had an idea of how this could be possible! Granted the song was quite childish and the idea itself was, well laughable, but it was the only one of it's kind he had ever herd anyone come up with in his entire time here. But for some reason he couldn't help but think the lyrics 'inside of every demon is a rainbow' was a very poor choice of words. He couldn't place a reason why, it was just a feeling he couldn't shake. As the last note of the song concluded the entire bar was silent for a few seconds, before a cacophony of laughter filled the air. But during this time Tafford stood silent and watched the television to see if there would be more. There were a few minutes of, frankly, embarrassing exchange between the princess, her subjects, and Killjoy herself. Concluding with the beginnings of what looked to be a fight, before the local affiliate station saw an opportunity to shoehorn in more commercials.

"Aw what, no!"

"What the fuck backwater!"

"Show the damn cat fight!"

were but a few of the resounding calls of disappointment that spread throughout the bar like a wave.

"Hey you god forsaken mooks, pipe down or I'll have Hardcase here throw you out again!"

Shouted the bartender on duty, whom Tafford didn't know very well. The crowd began to settle down with grumbles of discontent, as they knew from experience this was no idle threat.

"And Hardcase, get back to work"

he chided as the last of the complaints and laughter subsided. Tafford quietly went back to clearing tables and sweeping glass, and for the rest of the night he was strangely silent. Now, Tafford was never a loudmouth, however this was another level entirely, not speaking unless a reply was absolutely necessary and even then responding with short one or two word statements. Fortunately this wasn't noticed by staff or patrons, who were so into their own worlds no one cared to pay much attention to anything else. Tafford went over what he had herd form the news broadcast in his mind again and again, and for some reason he could hardly focus on anything else. It took notable effort to concentrate on his job to avoid running into things. Something that the princess said had resonated in Tafford stirring up emotions and half formed questions, that in this moment, he didn't fully understand. But for now his feelings could be summed up in two words,

Emergency Meeting!

Two Hours Later

After finishing the remainder of his shift Tafford pulled up in his old jeep along the trail he had worn over the years into his camp. He jumped out and entered the Quonset-like tent that served as his living quarters. He then sat down at the table near his bed and immediately began to unpack everything he had been thinking and feeling for the past few hours. For the past seven years he had survived on this small parcel of the inferno and never before had there been any hope of a way out other than being killed by an exterminator. But now he wasn't sure what to think, not only was he just learning this damnable place had a princess of all things, but she touted to have a way for the monsters that resided here to get out of this horrible netherworld without resembling an appetizer you might find at a party. Now granted, the way she conveyed this idea looked as if it had come from one of those direct to DVD movies made for five year olds. However to his knowledge no one else had ever had the ingenuity, the courage, the audacity, or possibly the stupidity to suggest something like this before. Could ascension really be possible? If given the chance, would he want to go to heaven? Oh come on, what was he doing, devoting time to thinking about this at all! What was he going to do, trudge halfway across perdition, knock on the door, and say 'hey need a helping hand?' That's just stupid! His life here may not be good, but it was tolerable, and he could still stand to look himself in the mirror, damn it! That's not something everyone could say. He had a decent job, a large and comfortable camp to come back to at the end of the day, projects aplenty, and all the game he could shoot. But then a thought that had occurred to him off and on for years chose that moment to rear it's ugly head, what was all of this even for? What had he been living for, was it the same as what he died for? During the war he had always had a sense that he was building towards something. With every victory, every setback, every bullet, every bolt, and every bombshell he felt he was building his way to a day when men would be free to lead their own lives, free from the interference of those who thought they could live them better. And he felt he had almost seen it! Almost. After arriving in hell, for the first few weeks it was only his faith in the Slayer that kept him going, with the vague hope that somehow, someday things would get even a little bit better. Eventually they had, but it was only because he eventually snapped out of it and started taking concrete steps to improve his situation. His faith in the Slayer hadn't waned, but he merely came to the reality that if he wanted things to get better, he would have to make it happen himself. In this way he, for a time, reclaimed the feeling he was building towards something. But by the time he considered his camp complete, around his fourth or fifth year in hell, that feeling had faded until it was replaced by an awful sense of stagnation. Was that one of the curses of hell? You finally reach one of your goals only to realize none of it mattered? When he was alive he had fought for freedom, he had always believed that. But when he came to hell, like everyone else, he was so busy serving himself by carving out his little niche that the thought of doing anything for anyone else hadn't even occurred to him! He had done nothing all while the various "noble" classes, the warlords, and legions of gangs had lorded over, tyrannized, and looted the people of this dimension without a second thought, or a care in the world! So he had lost sight of what he ended up here for, and in the end, he was no better than any other monster in this god forsaken land. Well, at least now the "curse" had come with some explanation. Finishing this thought, Tafford found had done more self reflection tonight than he had in all seven of the years of his afterlife. All because of a blonde haired woman who looked like a clown singing a song that nearly sounded as if it were written for preschoolers. But he couldn't just go on some fools errand to pentagram city! It would change his entire afterlife, possibly forever, and he couldn't just abandon all he had here-

…

But that was just it wasn't it? He had already isolated there was no good reason he had to stay, so what would he really be leaving behind? Possessions? Things? The sense of aimlessness and stagnation that had dogged him for years? … There was no guarantee it would work, assuming this "redemption" was even possible, there was the very real chance they would neither need nor want his help, and he would be turned away for nothing. But if he didn't at least try, what kind of future did he really have? He didn't need to say it, and he rose up to get some air, only to discover it was late evening, almost night! The rest of the day he had passed in self reflection! Maybe that was a small miracle in and of itself. And so with not much time left in the day, he went back inside for his dinner, and then sat back at the table to write up something important before turning in for sleep.