Cover art Courtesy to - JetXPegasus

In a dimension before earth came to existence there were the Maykrs. The first deity of the Maykrs, the Father, built the Gate of Divum many eons ago. Its purpose? To access the hidden city of Immora deep in the heart of a realm known by many names: the pit, the dark abyss, the Netherworld, and many other countless titles. . . but there was one name that all sentient creatures know it by, a name that have been given by the Dark Lord himself:

Hell.

Twenty-five years ago in earth's time, Hell found its way to open a portal to earth. From the mouth of the black void legions, and legions of Hell's most vilest creations, and dwellers of the dark realm marched out. They were rage, brutal from the strike of their very claws, and feared so much even a child had nightmares of their bright venomous yellow eyes:

The Demons.

They shed blood and mercilessly brutalized any living thing on their sights. The horde of the demons overwhelmed the very best and most advanced machinery and weapons technology that mankind could muster against the opposition. No matter what they threw or plotted against them It was utterly useless, they moved and were too quicker then them, caring for themselves they did not, for only they sought out the blood of humanity. They were willing to sacrifice their own to get to the heart of their world. They slaughtered thousands and millions more followed.

Until…He came.

In the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, and all thought hope was lost, one man stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and his reckoning was uncounted.

The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons. At the time they didn't know who he was nor were they prepared for his arrival, striding forth to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and though he was mortal, his strength grew, swift and unrelenting. For as he gains in strength so do they fall in numbers. His steel barreled sword of vengeance cut through layer after layer of the legions like a sickle through a field - his fury surpassing their own. Though Hell's forces were fast, He was faster - more relentless.

None could stand before the horde but him. Like a plague, despair spread before him, striking fear into the shadow-dwellers, driving them to deeper and darker pits. But no matter where they hid he would always find a way to break through the rabbit hole. When the Striding Outlander marched forth in the dark realm a new challenger from the depths of the abyss rose, The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before.

The Titan, of ferocity and immeasurable power. He strode upon the plain and faced the unyielding warrior, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains. The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at his hand, but when the demons thought for a moment victory was theirs - there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were left in utter disbelief.

On that day came the birth of a title: all those that tasted the bite of his sword, ripped and teared apart at his hands, those who realized he was far worse than them, those that stood and watched as he stood victorious over the Titan's corpse roaring an in-human battle cry named him...

The Doom Slayer.

The Doom Slayer and Davoth clashed one another, causing the multiverse to tremble as the immense power of the Primevals was unleashed, sweeping across time and space with devastating force. The strength of their opposing wills propelled them through dimensions, spanning the past, present, and future. Blow after blow, exchanging blood for blood, their battle gradually revealed the truth of the Ultimate Betrayal. It became evident that the Dark Lord was the True Creator, and the Father was nothing more than a usurper.

However, despite the circumstances, the armored warrior remained completely composed. The intense battle continued without any signs of abating, and the ultimate clash between two equally powerful forces unfolded. Nevertheless, the time for the decisive outcome of the entire existence drew near. One power triumphed over the other, and as the tremors of war subsided and the flames of disorder were extinguished, he stood at the pinnacle, possessing unrivaled might, unyielding, and invulnerable.

Upon the Ingmore Sanctum of the once revered Jekkad, the two adversaries stood facing each other, the atmosphere tranquil, the battle concluded. The life force, the very essence of Creation itself, flowed from the Dark Lord in an unprecedented manner as he wearily lowered himself to one knee, his body battered and exhausted, his armor in disarray. His ancient hand tightly grasped his sword of universal annihilation, yet there was an undeniable sense of acceptance in his demeanor.

Opposite the Dark Lord, the Destroyer stood, his fists clenched but his composure unbroken, a tempestuous storm of vengeance brewing in his eyes as he glared hatefully at the source of his suffering. The mightiest being, the one who had defied death and ascended from the dust to the cosmos, the Doom Slayer peered through the frigid visor of his impenetrable armor, known as the Praetor Suit, with a serene and righteous fury, the countless ages of torment he had endured flashing through his mind in an instant.

Everything he had lost, everything he had done to get to this point, every last demon he had torn to veritable shreds with his bare hands, every last god he had turned to pools of blood by his will, everything he had sacrificed...everything that he had loved. It all came down to this.

This was it, Doom Slayer thought, all or never.

Slowly, gradually, his gauntlet hands reached for his helmet, gripping the sides of his headgear, and giving it a twist. A slight hiss blew to the side as the pressure seal was broken, and extricated his helmet from his protective covering. For the first time in eons, he flashed his scarred visage to another physical being. One that he despised deeply. He dropped the accessory by the soles of his boots.

With his helmet falling to the side, the Doom Slayer was asleep. Now stood the very man who hailed the legendary title behind the head gear:

Flynn Taggart.

Flynn's eyes narrowed dangerously and stalked forward.

The Dark Lord breathed heavily, his will to keep fighting siphoned away from the overwhelming strength of his opponent. He raised his weapon, but quickly realized it was deadweight, useless in his hand for what was slowly approaching; for what was inevitable.

"Tell me," he spoke, blood eyes glaring deep into his adversary's. He tossed his mighty sword to the side. "Have you nothing to say to your creator... before you strike him down?"

Flynn glared back, a scowl forming to his scarred face, lips warped by hatred. He bared his teeth one last time, the arm-blade extending with a harsh screech. The Hell-Walker shot his arm forward and plunged the blade deep into the Dark Lord's chest. Blood and energy spilling forth, and for the first time in countless eons, the armored warrior responded.

"No."

Pulling his arm back, he ripped the blade free. The Dark Lord grunted and his body shook violently; pain flooded his body. The limitless power within him swelled. He tilted his head back and the power of Creation and Destruction raged forth from his orifices, a pillar of infinite energy shooting far into the sky, billowing out as it reached the boundaries of Hell. The Dark Lord fell back, and from his chest rose the First Soul Sphere. Cracked and unstable, it shattered in an intense eruption that spread wide waves of power and influence flowing throughout the multiverse.

In an endless number of dimensions that had been infected by the treacherous demons, the denizens of Hell crumbled. Back in the Sentinel World, man and woman alike cheered the Slayer's banner as the demons that plagued their world turned to ash. On Earth, an imp was about to pounce on a woman and an UAC soldier, but the vile creature vanished in flames. Countless other worlds saw the end of their plight as the demons were erased from the universe.

Flynn gazed up at the infernal sky, the cold fury in his heart sated for the first time. For eons he had wasted away, slaughtering every last demon he swore to erase out of existence, living for the sole purpose of tearing Hell asunder. Today, he had taken rightful vengeance against the Dark Lord himself, the ultimate source of his pain. His conquest of Jekkad, his quest for revenge was over. The rage within him settled; he felt nothing but an empty void. What was there left for him now that the True Creator, the Father of All was dead?

It is done.

It is finally over.

"..."

Flynn slowly twitched from side to side as a wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him, nausea and dizziness overwhelming his senses. His brows furrowed in bewilderment as he fell to his knees, and he gazed down at his gauntlet hands, perplexed. What was happening to him?

"By his hand, all things were made," the Maykr Father's omniscient voice reverberated throughout the Holy Ingmore Sanctum. "... Even you."

Flynn chuckled as realization dawned on him. For centuries, his rage was the only thing that had kept him going. Now, without said rage, his body stopped functioning. He was an empty shell that had lost what kept him alive for so long; a husk of a human being.

In his moment of weakness, he fell over, and his world engulfed in darkness. In his last fleeting moment of consciousness, he eyed the Seraphs that stared emotionlessly down at him. One Seraph in the middle raised his hand and the long, stone lid slid over him. Darkness descended from all sides.

The blood red sigil above him, was the one thing illuminating his sarcophagus.

His eyes became heavy and finally let sleep overtake him.

An anomaly of a white flash of light appeared next to the sarcophagus. Standing next to said sarcophagus, stood a tall cloaked figure. The mysterious gazed down at the grim tomb before them with a tilt of their head.

The mysterious individual placed their hand on the sarcophaguss' lid in the middle. Both the individual and the sarcophagus were shrouded in a bright white aura, before exploding and filling up the area around. Only when the light cleared did a group of Seraphs finally arrive to see the commotion. Unfortunately, they came far too late.

The mysterious individual, along with the sarcophagus, were gone.

A/N: And that's chapter 1 my little shimmerings! I just wanna say though, I'm going to do my best to be as consistent with this story as possible. And if no new chapter pops up in a while, that is because I may not be feeling writing today or the other day after that. I want to do my best to keep quality in my writing, and when i'm force writing just to appease people, it comes out all-around bad and crummy. I don't want to subject myself or anyone to bad writing, so i won't!

Since this will be another rewrite, there will be some changes as you all have read through this first chapter. I'd also like to add that this story takes place in season 5 of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I'll be working on the second chapter soon (If God wills), but I'll be going now. I hope you all have a wonderful day or night wherever you are!

See you all in the next chapter, my little shimmerings!