"Against the evil that the Warp can conjure. All the wickedness that Chaos can produce. We will send unto them, you. Rip and Tear, until it is done," - Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium, to Him.

It is the 41st Millenium. A future marked by blood and fire. The stars and the heavens, once thought to be the future of humanity, is bleeding and dying. The galaxy is divided in two by The Great Rift, a massive tear in reality that has made travel all but impossible. Such is its power that even The Astronomicon, the Emperor's holy Throne upon Terra which guides ships as they travel through the warp struggles to break through the darkness. Inside the Rift, the planets caught in it suffer from madness, from corruption, from the emptiness of the soul as Chaos ruins and shapes and morphs those in it. There is no sanity, no mercy, no hope.

But man is a stubborn creature.

For while stones break and animals flee, men endure.

And in one planet, similar to our own, this mantra is acted on.

Tantive was a jewel unlike no other. A temperate climate and azure blue seas allowed for life to thrive. Great forests dotted its landscape, intersped with fair valleys that nursed black soil. Such was its fertility that when the Imperium discovered it, it was declared to be an agri-world, solely dedicated to the production of food that fed nearby systems. The Explorator that found it, perhaps sensitive to its natural beauty or aware that pollution would be the death of good agriculture, decreed that the smog and choking fumes be kept at a minimum. Such was life in Tantive, peaceful and quiet.

Then the Great Rift came into being and the world was thrust to madness.

Brother turned against brother in a tide of madness and blood. A secret cabal of Nurgle and Slaaneshi worshippers, the Plague-Father and the Prince of Decadence respectively, urged on this tide.

And it was those enemies Lieutenant Talia Hall found herself fighting against. With las-rifle in hand, her boot-steps echoed against aged marble stones, sick laughter coming up from behind her. The Cadian officer found herself alone after her Valkyrie was shot down by anti-aircraft fire. In the crash, her men and crew were killed and she was forced to flee as a gaggle of Slaaneshi-corrupted locals threatened to swarm her. The Valk had crashed in the Great Forest and Talia didn't have to struggle just against leering madman but grass and branch and leaf and more. She was fast, her body suited to long marches and tests of endurance but she could never shake off her pursuers. In her escape, she found ruins of sorts.

In the rundown she had of the planet, she did not know that it had such things. But with madmen hot on her tail, the best thing to do she decided was to hunker down in there. As she ran into the darkness of it, she failed to notice the multiple offerings left at the door, and a peculiar paper that beheld a mark.

The interior of the ruins were expansive, Talia found. Whoever built the complex were accomplished builders for even despite the age, it still held strong. The paths were strangely singular and straight-forward. She had expected it to be maze-like and such but no, the builders apparently wanted its visitors to see whatever lay at the end of the passage-way.

And eventually, Talia did found it.

The chamber was massive, easily fitting a dozen Leman Russ tanks in tight formation. Six columns were there, tall and mighty, and the tattered banners of some-kind left hanging from poles connected to it. At the very middle of the column formation however was a raised dais. On the dais, a simple faded marble box. It was a tomb, Talia quickly realized. There was no time for her to contemplate the specifics of the tomb however for she heard rushing feet coming behind her. Taking a breath, she ran forward to ascend the dais and took cover behind the marble box.

She whispered a quiet word of apology to the dead as she lifted her lasrifle and aimed it at the entrance.

The first of the mob came through. Filthy terrible and screaming wretches, the light of madness present in their eyes. Talia made no battle-cries, no roars of defiance. With practiced efficiency, the guardswoman unleashed a stream of concentrated laser at the doorway. The M36 Kantrael Pattern Lasgun was by no means an impressive weapon. But the lasgun had held Cadia through Thirteen Black crusades. It took a falling Black Stone Fortress to destroy her home and even then, guardsmen fought on the broken remains with their lasguns.

The Imperial Guard held the line.

Cadia broke before its defenders did.

And here, the line shall be held.

The charging wretches fell one by one, unarmored as they wore and holding crude weapons and simple auto-pistols. By the end of it all, there were twenty dead traitors and one-smoking by the barrel lasgun. Talia huffed, lowering her rifle slightly to rest. There were still more coming, evidenced by the muffled yelling ahead. Talia simply took off the magazine of her lasgun and chambered in a new one, once more ready to fire.

Talia won herself a brief period to rest and think.

She was going to use it to pray.

For if she was going to die, she was going to die with one last prayer to He that sat on Terra and take down as many traitors as she could before finally, letting herself get surrounded and enlighten the madmen on who Saint Simpkin was.

She chuckled slightly, glancing at the grenades around her belt before calming her mind and letting serenity flow through her. As the mob drew closer, and the steps became louder and louder, Talia Hall prayed.

"Oh God Emperor, the Master of Mankind," she said quietly as she closed her eyes, the mob not even registering to her. "Grant me strength to defeat thy enemies. Grant me the will to defeat the beast. And from your grace, my lord..."

The steps became louder.

She opened her eyes, purple irises narrowed in determination.

"I shall know no fear."

The screaming from the mob arrived, flowing wretches coming in. Talia laughed. Thank the Emperor for this target rich environment! Once more, her lasgun sang, reminding the traitors who was before them and why the Guard held the line. But as she fought and accepted the fact that she was going to die, there was still a part of Talia that wished for life. There was still a little voice in her mind that yearned for salvation; that still dared to dream of rescue and hope. Hope was humanity's strongest weapon after all.

And in the darkness and madness of the 41st Millenium, hope was the best weapon to use against Chaos.

And that hope Talia had would be answered.

Perhaps it was because of her faith, her strong desire to live. Perhaps it was because she was a pure and innocent soul that needed help, she herself would not know even until her last moments, for reality...answered.

Suddenly and without question, the six columns began to glow with blue fire. The chamber shook, not from the charging mob, but from something hidden. Talia actually yelped as she lost balanced and fell back on her rear. Underneath her, the circle was alit. It poured into the marble box, feeding it. On its top, a symbol glowed. The marble box opened and from it, a shadow emerged. Talia's eyes settled and finally, she saw that the shadow was an armored man, clad head to toe in olive-green plate. He stood tall and proud, unbothered by the sight of the dead and the dying madmne around him. She felt his eyes scan her body and her soul with such intensity, as if she was being judged. She however did not back down from his gaze and glared back, her honor demanding no less. The helm he wore had semi-pixelated glass that allowed her to see his eyes.

And He glanced at her without judgement. His eyes were, in a way, kindly and protective.

A weight on her soul was lifted as the armored man turned way his gaze towards her pursuers who, once their shock wore off, threw insults at him. It was there Talia noticed the aura surrounding the man changed from cautious curiosity to one that she was all familiar to.

One of the heretics strode forward, a man with ugly scars on his chest with even more ugly scars on his face. He raised his weapon, a boltpistol at the armored man. Talia momentarily thought that the heretic was going to shoot the green-armored interloper but it was not to be.

As his head exploded on where he stood.

Shock and silence filled the room as the man's bloody stumpy remains fell into a pool of his own blood. Talia turned to the green-armored man and found him sporting a double-barrelled weapon, smoke pouring from it. There was a crack as red-colored shells popped out and fresh ones were loaded.

And chaos, in a literal sense, erupted.

He descended upon them with a fury that no man, no normal man, could muster. His weapon sang, shells tearing through bone and muscle without mercy or gentleness. Gore flew like rains droplets, painting red the traitors nearby. The two blasts ought to have been a reprieve for them but it was not. The Slayer was upon them, a thresher to the wheat that stood still and frightened. His fists flew freely, punching through their flesh as a jackhammer tore through a wall.

A traitor was caught in his hand and received a hole through his flesh. He died with a throaty blood-curdling scream, the madness faded from his eyes with the realization that he was dead. And soon, the friends around him. The traitors recovered from their shock and attacked, yelling out praises towards the Dark Prince's name.

"For the Prince!" they cried, brandishing their weapons. Crude blades, autopistols, autorifles. Some lasguns pilfered from PDF armouries or fallen Guardsmen, Imperial markings defaced with fluids or blood. It was to be a contest then. The Dark Prince's degeneracy versus the Doom Slayer's rage.

It was time to see who was stronger.

Equipping himself with the fallen men's weapons, the Doom Slayer leapt into action, a lightning bolt among men, a god of war against mortals. The autopistol in his hand chattered freely with staccato booms. It ripped and tore through their unarmored forms, feeding blood to the ancient stone of his tomb. They attacked him back, shooting and trying to catch up to him, uselessly.

They were slow and uncoordinated pieces of meat. Even the lowest imp of hell would have been faster than these corrupted. Such was the name the Doom Slayer would give these cretins. They did not stink of Hell for that realm was forever destroyed, with his hand, but they were corrupted all the same. A power that he fed on with each one that died at his hand. It was a unpleasant thing for the Slayer to absorb, flashes of a ruined heaven entering his mind and the laughter of...things.

But if it was meant to frighten him, it was doing a poor job of it.

He who spent countless eons laying waste to Hell and its forces. He who had slain the mightiest champions the Dark Realm could throw at him. He who had slain Titans, Divine Beings and the Icon of Sin itself. With his hand, Hell was no more. With his sacrifice, Davoth was slain. He was the Sovereign of the Night Sentinels, the Unchained Predator, the Hell Walker.

The DOOM Slayer.

And these corrupted fools, these traitors to mankind, was going to be educated piece by piece on who He was.

He leapt yet again, the autopistol in his hand switched to a autorifle. Unlike the UAC Heavy Rifle, it wasn't as weighty or bulky but it delivered the same punch and with a higher rate of fire, a settlement He found acceptable. The crowd was thinned with it, dying with pleas to their Dark God to save them. Bits of pieces of understanding came to the Slayer with each soul slain, information on his situation coming clearer and clearer. And with each picture becoming legible in His mind, it simply fuelled the growing anger in him.

The autorifle stopped singing, clicking fruitlessly as it ran out of ammunition. But if the traitors thought that their education was over, they were wrong. Light shimmered as a lasgun appeared in his hand. A cursory glance of it revealed it was once held by a man named Connor, a scribe before war forced him to fight. And fight he did, dying in battle against the traitors. The Slayer would honor his memory by using the lasgun well.

With precision aim, the Slayer sent his targets into the afterlife. He remained nimble, jumping from place to place. He was not going to give the traitors the chance to even touch him. From a jump he committed, he picked a spot to land, he chose an unfortunate man to be his landing pad. The man, sensing his impending fate of being squished, unleashed everything that his weapon had at the Slayer. It was a fruitless labor however as the Slayer landed on the man, crushing him underneath his boots. Upon landing, the Slayer discarded the lasgun he had and swiftly retrieved the swift man's weapon.

The lasgun was proving to become his favourite. A gun with perfect accuracy, and whose fire couldn't be evaded due to moving at the speed of light? Yes please.
But all good things came to an end as the lasgun dried up, leaving him without weapons to use. The traitors, seeing this, cheered for now, they had a fighting chance, they thought in the mad minds. This was no issue for the Slayer however for if he had no ammo, he simply was going to get some.

From hammerspace, a chainsaw appeared in his hand. With a click, it roared to life, whirring wickedly with its sharp serrated teeth.

Awe.

There was no feeling, no emotion Talia carried to herself other than that. The righteous brutality that the Astartes-for what else he could be- was nothing less than awe-inspiring. She had prayed earnestly, hoped sincerely and the Emperor responded to her prayers. Even despite Cadia breaking and Great Rift turning half of the galaxy to sorcery and madness, he still was there. He hadn't abandoned his people. He hadn't abandoned her.

The Emperor Protects.

With faith in her heart, Talia pressed her hands to her chest-plate in the form of the bird. She whispered fervently, "I will sing unto Him for He has triumphed gloriously," Talia prayed. "For he has sent salvation to his people, the flock of Man. Praise be to the Emperor, the Lord of Mankind!"

The zealous whispers that left her lips had attracted an audience it would seem for the Astartes turned towards her, the servo whirs of his armor whining as he walked. The green plates of his suit were stained red with gore, evidence of his bloody work. Talia finished her prayers and quickly went on one knee in honor of her saviour. Her eyes never left the floor as she spoke to him, with deference.

"My lord, you're a Emperor-sent blessing," Talia murmured, making sure to be corteuous to the angel that intervened on her behalf. Such was her faith that she did not even think about the casket he was buried in nor did she register that the Slayer would barely reach the height of a Scout Marines. In her eyes, he was Astartes. Mighty, tall, and more than capable of ruining the day of the traitors.

For Talia, this was a list of miracles to her life.

For the Slayer, this was Tuesday. Or Wednsday, he had lost track of time ever since he was sealed in the tomb by the Father. The business with the Dark Lord and Hell, it was over and really, there was no other need for him. That was fine to the Slayer. Hell would be erased forever and Earth could heal on its own. The fact that he was awoken now of all times meant something was incredibly wrong. As far as he knew from absorbing the souls of the dead, dark entities were corrupting people.

That, he could not allow.

He glanced down at the woman kneeling before him, her armor smoking with laser marks and bullet hits. Dirt and blood gored her face, hardened by war. She clearly was no ARC trooper, that was for sure. The golden eagle on her chestplate and skull emblazoned on her helmet were not ARC markings. Plus, her gear looked no different than what he wore at Mars, in days long past.

"Get up," he said simply, his voice deep and basso. He had made a vow to never speak again for it was his mad ravings that brought Hell to the Argenta. That vow was no longer in force as Hell was no more. That and necessity. He no longer had VEGA or that cretin Samur to speak for him. The kneeling trooper blinked at his tone before nodding and rising to her feet, her las-rifle ready in her hands.

She was a go-getter. He could respect that.

"What chapter do you hail from, my lord? I do not think I've ever seen Astartes of your type," Talia asked out of respect, glancing around to see his heraldry. She was at Cadia before it broke and had seen numerous Astartes chapters there. It was important to know which chapter a Space Marine belonged to give due reverence. Strangely, He had no identifying marks save for that queer hammerlike symbol on the upper left side of his helmet.

Silence was his answer.

A bead of sweat dripped down Talia's face. Okay, a silent type. Perhaps a son of Dorn? His ferocity matched that of the Black Templars and his silence equal to a Imperial Fist. She could work with that. The Astartes turned, glancing at the red floor now below them.

"Who and where?" the Slayer rumbled. Talia turned at the mess below and raised an eyebrow. She thought about his question. What other reason could an Astartes ask about the enemy if only to find out who they were and how to find them and kill them? Yes, that made sense to Talia. "They're chaos-mad cultists, my lord. They...they used to be citizens here but when the Rift opened, it made the faithless and accursed reveal themselves," Talia narrated, trying her best to keep her voice level and not filled with contempt for the traitors. "They've overrun the capital quickly and other major cities. My men and I, we were retreating to the south where loyalist remnants remain. My transport was shot down before we could arrive."

The Slayer nodded, processing the information pressed to him. A whole planet and it was just up to him to clean up the mess. He could fight an entire army on his own, he had done that way too many times to count, but that would take too long. A beheading, then. They were madmen but they were still men. Without leaders, they were going to be wild fools that could be mopped up by the locals.

"Their leader?" he asked again, his tone curt. Talia winced at his tone, cursing to herself for failing to provide important information.

"A duo of traitors. The first, Nurgle's lot. He calls himself Physician Galen. The second one, he is a Slaneeshi worshipper named Adonis the Beautiful." Talia revealed, spitting onto the floor in disgust. "The Physician is at the capital while Adonis leads a force to the last stronghold here, by last communique from our intelligence."

The Slayer listened and listened quietly. Nurgle and Slaanesh, two of the named entities. He hadn't met Nurgle yet nor his followers though he quickly figured they were not pleasant. And Slaanesh...he just felt dirty even thinking about whatever the hell it was. He glanced towards the viscera laden floor. So these men were that thing's followers.

Now, what to do?

He could of course head to the capital and purge it of the Physician but the Slaaneshi leader was on his way to overthrow the last remnants of humanity. That, he could not allow. If he intercepted the army and killed the leader, there was little doubt that his army would fall apart. He wasn't particularly impressed with the conduct of the mob he faced. They were wild, unruly, and undisciplined.

And with that, the Slayer made his decision.

He walked.

Talia watched as the Slayer buggered off. Blinking, she quickly filed behind him. He wasn't saying anything which made Talia unsure if she did a good job in disseminating information but he looked like he was walking with purpose. Well, wherever he was going, she was going to follow him. After all, what else was she going to do? She had no transports and if she went alone, she would be walking with a massive target painted on her back.

At least, with the Astartes, her chances for survival to serve the Emperor would be increased. Quickly, the pair ascended the chamber and onto the temple ruins on the outside. It was still day, of sorts. What used to be a fair and sun-basked planet, there was a sickness that gripped even the earth of the planet. The sky was purple, streaks of lightning going from dark clouds. If Talia let her guard or faith down even for a second, she hears whispers into her soul.

"The Emperor Protects," she chanted to herself. She wasn't going to fail the Emperor. She wasn't going to betray humanity. She was Cadian, and she will hold the line. She glanced up, turning towards the Astartes, wondering how he was taking in the mists of the Warp. He was looking up into the sky, his double-barrelled stubber in his hand.

Unknown to Talia however, the Slayer saw the warp storm engulfing them differently. He saw it, the massive gaping hole in reality. He saw the madness and corruption seeping forth from the extra-dimensional wound in the heavens. He felt it in his skin, crawling and baying and demanding entry. Focusing into the sky, he could feel them. He felt the unnatural and baying rage of the First. His mind was rocked by the shifting and immutable madness of the Second. He felt sickened to the core of his body by the Third. His senses brayed and screamed at the touch of the Fourth. And by listening in to the tumultuous waves of the tempest storm, he heard it; the laughing of those dark thirsting gods.

They were mighty, that was true. But he was mighty too.

Talia suddenly buckled as the air around them stilled. She felt like she was choking at first but then, the pounding in her heart calmed and the whisperings in her soul...stopped. For the first time since she could remember, the burgeoning in her soul was gone. Her soul felt light, protected. But there was more. There was a fire in her heart that burned with her faith, a fire that demanded justice and retribution. She felt lifted, the adrenaline flowing in her veins pulsing and baying but, controlled. There was no other desire inside her but to protect, to bring doom to the enemies of Mankind.

To rip and to tear, until it was done.

"Where are they?" the Slayer asked. Blinking, she turned to the Astartes and to her eyes, the air around him was stilled back to reality. Was this aura she was feeling...was it from him? She shook her head and focused back to his question.

"The loyalist stronghold, my lord?" she clarified. The Slayer nodded. Talia turned south. "There in the south, twelve kilometers from us. We will have to be pass through forest and some villages before we get there. It will be possible that we might encounter resistance in our path as well as loyalists, if there are that remain in this mad world."

The Slayer nodded.

"Let's go," he said simply. Talia nodded, her las-rifle at the ready.

A/N: Hello, friends.

Here be my third and hopefully, final attempt at a Doom/40k fic. The last one is now dead, thanks to the fact that the new lore which dropped from both 40K and Doom killed the plotlines I wanted. But that is fine for new ideas, fresh ones, have popped into my squishy brain.

I hope this shall be as enjoyable to you all as the previous ones were.

This was all taken from both QQ and SB.

Here be the link to the old one: threads/kar-en-tuk-doom-eternal-warhammer-40k.834081/