(Cue the intro!)

GAME OF THRONES - MAIN TITLE

- COMPOSED BY RAMIN DJAWADI

(0:00 - 0:05)

Chapter 1: Awakening to a New Beginning

LOCATION: THE CITY OF IMMORA

Art Courtesy by JetXPegasus

In the earliest era during the initial conflict when the shadows initially grew longer, there stood a man. This man, having been scorched by the remnants of Armageddon, had their soul blistered by the infernal fires of Hell and tainted beyond any hope of redemption. Despite this, they made the conscious decision to embark on a path of perpetual torment. In their insatiable hatred, they found no solace; and with their blood boiling, they scoured the Umbral Plains relentlessly, seeking retribution against the malevolent lords who had wronged them.

They bore witness to countless worlds and realms succumbing to the clutches of these putrid beings, and with their fury unleashed, they waged a holy war against the corrupted souls of the damned. They were unyielding, unbreakable, and incorruptible. Through the sheer might of their wrathful fists, the monstrous creatures inhabiting the nine circles of Hell fell without end, and the blood of the wicked was splattered upon their mind, their body, and their soul.

He triumphed through the passage that preys upon the weak, and impervious in his relentless attack, he traversed between worlds and across time, rescuing countless worlds from unholy annihilation. Despite his name and influence spreading throughout the multiverse like never before, he remained unaware of the extent of his reach, focused solely on banishing all remaining unbroken demons to the void.

He sought retribution in every realm, be it dark or light, fire or ice, at the beginning or the end. Yet, amidst the birth and demise of stars, he discerned the falsehoods and treachery of the Ancient Ones. He struck down all who concealed the truth, meted out punishment to the gods, and shattered the essence of the Father.

Determined to end the eternal war, he stole the essence of the Dark Lord and took it to the False Beginning. He watched, hateful in his gait as the Luminarium resurrected the First, and thus set forth the Beginning of the End. Evil followed the abysmal shadows, and the Dark Lord roused Immora, the Armies of Armageddon standing to challenge all of Creation.

However, the treacherous shade stretched on indefinitely, he stood among them unfettered.

He traversed between worlds and rallied the armies of Argenta, thus commencing the Final War. With determination, he charged through the dust and the realm of death, tearing down the immortal gates of Immora, leaving destruction in his wake. He rampaged towards the heart of the Origin, where the Ancient Gods patiently awaited, and there he issued a challenge to the First; thus began the Final Battle, the End of the End.

Two Titans encountered 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.

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.

He 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?"

The Doom Slayer 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.

The Doom Slayer 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.

"..."

The Doom Slayer 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."

Ah, of course, the Slayer thought.

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.

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

The Doom Slayer's eyes shot open. Greeted by the clear blue sky above him. He slowly sat up from the grassy floor, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and staring straight ahead at the forest depths. The Slayer blinked and scanned his surroundings, finding himself in a forest. Trees stretched high into the canopy of clouds above them. Birds flew overhead, singing with their unique songs.

Flowers swayed along the breeze. Bright sunlight beamed through the leaves, the blades of grass danced in the gentle wind. Everything was so peaceful. Peace the Slayer hadn't felt in eons. The last time he experienced such peace, before everything fell apart… Before the demons of Hell destroyed all that he had ever loved. His wife, his son… Daisy. A feeling he could never have again. Now, here in this forest, where life flourished, it was as if no one else existed outside of him.

The sun glinted off of his armor and slowly got up to his feet. He began starting his way through the forest, following the path. Subconsciously, the Slayer ordered his armor to scan for any threat or enemy activity. But nothing came near. Even when he stopped walking, the system remained inactive, still scanning. Still analyzing.

The scan revealed nothing interesting at first, carbon based life, oxygen nitrogen atmosphere, no radio, infrared, or ultrasonic communications detected, etc. Then the Doom Slayer's armor started giving him readouts on the more mystical aspects of his surroundings. There was no trace of any Hell energies, aside from the ones he himself was emitting. No demonic presences anywhere within range of his sensors or his HUD, nor anywhere else within range. Nothing. It was eerily quiet. Almost unsettling.

He continued his journey, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. No one. Just nature, birdsong, trees swaying gently with the wind. The Doom Slayer rubbed the temples of his helmet; something is definitely wrong here.

Thoughts began to appear in overdrive.

Why is he awake? Have the demons returned or a new enemy had appeared, one that he hadn't faced before? Why isn't he in his sarcophagus? Who woke him up? Why is he back on earth? The demons are gone, his eternal crusade is over, so… why awake him?

The Doom Slayer proceeded forward through the forest. Eventually, the landscape changed, and now he found himself looking down into a river. The Slayer looked up to see the tops of a large mountain range poking up over the surrounding woods. To his right, the mountains gave way to lush green plains stretching as far as the eye could see.

The Slayer jumped from the precipice and landed near the slithering river. He scanned the shadows for any sign of a phantom, be it animal or man. As expected, the forest remained empty.

"Oi, you there!"

Or so he thought.

The Doom Slayer whipped to his left, seeing from afar a large group. All of them, including their leader, share the same clothing. The group donned long sleeve brown shirts, black pants, furry bear coats, and wielded swords.

The Slayer shifted his gaze to their leader. There was no mistake that he was the Alpha. The Alpha was a muscular white man who had a wide grin, revealing filthy yellow teeth.

"I don't know who you are, but you are not welcome in our turf. So, why don't you do me a solid and piss off!" The Alpha named spoke slowly and deliberately, remaining calm whilst keeping his blistering temper at bay.

The Slayer stood motionless. Not gracing the leader with a response. By his better judgment, they didn't oppose a threat to him, and with that, he turned away, walking along the river.

"Did… Did he just ignore me?" Asked the leader in an unsettling tone under his breath, bawling his hands to a fist. One of his boys jumped in, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Um, Boss? I think we should leave him be." Advised his companion.

"What. Why?" Inquired the leader, turning his head at him.

"I don't know. It's just… I'm getting a very strange aura from that guy, and it's not good." He responded.

Another one behind him chimed in, "He's right, boss."

Then came another one who added in from where he stood next to the leader, "That isn't the worst part! When I first saw him. It… it made me see death. I can almost see it in front of me!" He shivers by his words as the images of his death play in his head.

"That guy, making you losers see death?" The leader scoffed, waving his hand mockingly. "What is a weakling to a strong man like me? Besides, he's nothing more than another trespasser, and you all know the rules. Anyone who dares to step foot into our territory is punishable by death!"

Before his buddies could protest any further, The leader had already started bee-lining towards the Slayer, ignoring all the shouts and warnings.

"Do you hear me, bub? It's time for a no good rat like you to be taught a lesson! This is what happens when you ignore me!" He roared, cocking his fist back, preparing himself for his attack.

Unfortunately, his confidence dwindled short when the Slayer caught it with effortless ease. His buddies watched in silence as the Doom Slayer gripped the throat of their leader tightly. His throat contracted, gasping for air then his world suddenly went spinning. His back was thrown hard to the ground knocking the wind out of him. The Slayer grabs the edges of his head, and with a quick twist, he snaps his head in one-hundred—sixty degrees, leaving his head going limp before collapsing knee first to the ground. The foolish soul didn't even have time to scream.

Turning away from his corpse, the Slayer set his eyes on the group far from him. The three henchmen were stunned, but also in pure fear. This man's strength and speed far exceeded that of ten men. Not only that, but it killed their boss in seconds flat! No one has ever defeated their boss, let alone killed him and lived to tell about it, and he had done it without the slightest hesitation. They wanted to flee and make way for the trees, but fear had glued their feet still to their spots. Those who weren't paralyzed in fear, however, were left with a different feeling:

Rage.

"GET HiM!"

"KiLL HiM!"

The trio's eyes widened at the outburst of their brethren. They tried desperately to stop them, but they all passed them. Making a full charge towards the Slayer while letting out a battle cry.

The Doom Slayer jumped backwards. Reaching for his back, he pulled out a Heavy Rifle, aiming it at his target then pelting three men with micro missiles. Within seconds every missile pierce into his flesh exploded leaving him to pieces.

Another one came at him from behind, but he wasn't quick enough to slash him. The Slayer reflexively rolled his body and kicked his boot to the man's jaw-line, sending him flying. The weapon he carried vanished in a flash, and was replaced with an intimidating crossbow. He slowly aims it at his target then once it has charged to its fullest he takes the shot, firing off a broad horizontal line of energy slicing the enemy in two.

In midair, he anticipated this by using the mobility of his boot thrusters, double jumping for an extra safe landing. With a heavy thud, he lands hard on the man's torso. In a blur, the Doom Slayer reached down and grabbed him by the throat. His throat contracted as his air supply was cut out. The man clawed at the Slayer's arm until the Hell-Walker snapped it effortlessly like a twig, and the man's head went limp, leaving his buddies stunned. He tossed the body away, and jumped to the next one.

Suddenly, four men surrounded the Doom Slayer. The Hell-Walker's weapon vanished, replaced with another weapon. Their eyes widened as they all felt their heart stop at the sight behind them. Beheld in the Slayer's hands was his chaingun. It was big with four long sets of barrels and was the size of his torso. The barrels slowly began to spin. Every second, it spun faster and faster. Once its speed increased, all four of them were struck by a swarm of powerful rounds, turning them into twisted, mangled corpses.

"Got you!" Shouted another man, not particularly fazed by the gruesome death of his four comrades. He swung a spear shaped bone at the Slayer, only to have his hand caught mid-swing and receive a face-full of lead. The headless torso aligned perfectly with the head of another behind him.

The Slayer, focused on aim, fired his double barrel, instantly the man's brain splattered everywhere. A few more charged at him, one tried to throw a punch but got slapped hard to the side, as for the other, the Slayer stopped by kicking the side of his left knee, breaking his leg as he could feel his bones bending. He would have shrieked had the Doom Slayer not silence him with a sickening punch through the poor man's head with practiced ease.

He made a slow turn to his right. His eyes fixed on the injured fellow; had he not blinked, he would've seen the absolutely immense speed from the bringer of death itself as he dashed his way towards him.

"You're gonna pa-"

His words cut-short as he saw the Slayer standing before him, his confidence giving way to an acute fear.

"Wh-Wha…" For once in his life, he was speechless as he beheld the towering figure of the Doom Slayer. His expression once proud, confident, and cocky transformed into pure sorrow and regret. By the work of an instant, the Slayer plunged his fist through the man's chest—pulling back he grasped the heart in hand before crushing it with pure force, whilst watching his body collapse to the floor.

Besides the onlooking trio in the distance, the last man laid on the ground, trembling in horror as the Slayer stalked towards him with his gun in hand.

"W-Wait. Please!" He cried almost in a stutter with its claws in the air. Through his march the Doom Slayer snapped the ejector open, reloading it with another set of shells whilst glaring at him behind his visor.

"W-What if I give you something that'll please you?"

One step.

"S-Something that'll make you so rich, and famous, that you couldn't even imagine?"

Two steps.

"C-C-Can't you understand that? It'll be wonderful! And we could be friends, partners!"

Three steps.

"I, we, you—." His head exploded into a mist by the shells that shot it. Steam billowed out of the twin barrels as the Slayer stood there watching its body slowly collapse to the ground.

All there were left were the trio who're left quaking in fear as the Slayer stood there staring at the lifeless corpse. He continued this for what felt like an hour or two until he rolled his body around, calmly advancing forward through the depths of the forest. Everyone watched in silence as the Doom Slayer proceeded through the woods. Disappearing behind the trees.

His heavy footfalls gave way to silence.

LOCATION: DRAGONSTONE

In a humble abode situated just beyond the outskirts of the village of Dragonstone, the esteemed Red Priestess of R'hllor, Melisandre, found herself engaged in fervent prayer before a blazing fire, offering homage to the revered Lord of Light. She had journeyed to this place under the explicit guidance of her divine master, with the purpose of locating Azor Ahai, the Prince That Was Promised. It had been prophesied that the imminent arrival of the Long Night was nigh, and with each passing day, the Night King grew ever more formidable.

Several months prior, Melisandre had arrived at Dragonstone, driven by her unwavering commitment to disseminate the sagacious and sacred teachings of R'hllor. Initially, her presence garnered little attention, but in due course, she managed to amass a considerable following. Remarkably, she even succeeded in persuading Stannis Baratheon and his kin to renounce their allegiance to the Seven and embrace the one true deity.

While the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms and their rulers occupy themselves with their daily conflicts, the followers of R'hllor are aware that the true adversary is amassing strength in the distant regions of the North. The deities worshipped by the populace, in their misguided devotion, remain indifferent to the imminent obliteration that awaits them.

Only the Lord of Light demonstrates the concern necessary to rally his adherents and endeavor to salvage their world. In the estimation of Melisandre, R'hllor is deserving of veneration for his proactive measures.

Empowered by her prophetic visions, the Red Woman possesses unwavering certainty that Stannis Baratheon is the long-awaited Prince that was promised. She spares no effort in persuading him of this truth. The man possesses all the requisite qualities to lead the living in their battle against the hordes of the deceased.

Although Stannis Baratheon was a man of unwavering determination, the notion was gradually permeating his thoughts; particularly upon discovering the truth regarding Robert Baratheon's alleged offspring. In due course, he shall assume his rightful position as the esteemed representative of R'hllor and the emblematic figure to rally the Kingdoms together in order to confront this imminent peril. Upon the conclusion of her homage, the Red Woman's eyes abruptly opened wide.

She was overwhelmed by a vision bestowed upon her by the flickering flames. These visions depicted a man adorned in peculiar green armor, traversing the realms with a purpose of his own, yet there was an inexplicable allure about him.

Underneath that armor was nothing but pure rage and hatred, and unmatched power; so much so that Melisandre grew wary of him. The visions then tell a great war orchestrated by an insect of a man and the stranger took no sides as he butchered all those who stood in his way – be they of noble or vile intentions – and he did so with brutality and cruelty that not even the most vile of monsters could ever hope to achieve.

Upon being released from this vision, Melisandre found herself breathing heavily. Whoever or whatever that man may be, even R'hllor himself appeared to be cautious of him. It was evident that he posed a threat, not only to the Kingdoms, but also to the Lord of Light.

Melisandre found it difficult to fathom such a notion. How could any man possibly pose a threat to the mighty R'hllor? Yet, here was a vision sent directly by the Lord of Light. How could she possibly deny its significance?

She could not allow this man, this...beast, to roam freely and bring about the destruction of the entire known world.

What could she do against…

The Footsteps of Doom.

LOCATION: WOLFSWOOD

Robb Stark struggled to keep his eyes open. The warm embrace of his blanket cocoon seemed like a welcoming haven against the icy winds whistling down the woods of Wolfswood. The rest of his family was already asleep, bush-whacked from the long night journey. With a weary sigh he rested his back against the tree trunk.

Owls hooted mournfully somewhere overhead. A gentle breeze stirred the dry leaves around him, sending them dancing up and down in a slow circle. Crickest played music from the grass. Robb could feel himself falling through the peace of the moment, carried away by the fire's dancing flames. He could feel himself floating in the air, maneuvering through the towering tree trunks, drifting beneath a night sky to the distant horizon.

Robb blinked. He scanned his surroundings. Everything was still in place; the forest around him was quiet, the campfire still alight, tents were set, horses tethered, and the sounds of both his family and armored men peacefully sleeping filled the air. He distracted himself with thoughts of the dreams he had, where his mind stored countless images that sometimes faded away or became blurry when he tried to remember them.

One dream, though, remained firmly ingrained inside his head. Robb vividly remembered finding himself at the center of a wide spread field blooming with flowers, the petals fluttering gently on the wind. Blades of grass danced along the edge, creating a pleasant swaying motion. Robb felt content and at peace at the time, he almost thought he was in heaven. Not a day went by where he wished he could go back to that dream.

His second dream, however, was something he would never forget. It had started off peaceful, but soon turned violent. He remembered finding himself at the battlefield's center; a bloody field littered with the corpses of fallen foes. Robb had been surrounded by enemy combatants, yet the battle had ended far too quickly for his liking. Robb felt the urge to reach out for help. Yet no one was present. The atmosphere was filled by swords clashing together, the cries of dying men, the shrieks and wails of dying horses, and the grunts of pain. His world rush up and rolled as his head was cut from his shoulders by the slash of a man's sword. Robb barley slept after the horrific dream.

The third dream Robb remembered fondly. It featured a woman clad in white, standing in the middle of the road. Her golden hair framed her face beautifully; it shimmered brightly despite the darkness of the night. The woman held a small basket in her arms. She smiled warmly at him. The sight made his heart swell with joy. Robb watched as she started forward, reaching out to him.

And then he woke up.

Robb ran his fingers through his dark curly hair and exhaled. He wished that third dream lasted longer. He couldn't get that mysterious woman out of his mind for months; her warm welcoming smile, her beautiful golden hair and gentle hands. He wished he could hear that angelic voice again. But it wasn't meant to be. There will come a day that he can find a woman; one that makes his heart sing. But that day hasn't yet come.

Suddenly, the fire crackled and popped merrily in front of him. He realized that someone else was awake.

As if sensing his awakening gaze, Jon Snow looked toward him. Their eyes met briefly in acknowledgement. Neither spoke for some time, simply enjoying each others company. Jon started towards him and sat down next to him.

"Nightmares again?" Asked Jon.

Robb nodded, "I'll always have them. I guess you know that better than anybody."

"That you do," replied Jon as he pulled a flask from his satchel, taking several gulps of water and passing it back to Robb.

After drinking from the flask, Robb passed it back over to Jon. Taking another swig and wiping the sweat and dirt off his forehead. Neither of them said anything else, for their conversation has lapsed into silence once again. They lay there side by side, gazing upward through the canopy, lost within their own memories, and yet somehow connected.

Finally Robb broke the spell between them. "So, what brought you up?"

Jon shook his head.

"I couldn't sleep," answered Jon.

"Well, at least we both can watch the campfire together," Robb remarked with a hint of humor.

Jon chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, don't start without me boys."

The pair turned their gazes in time to see the ward, Theon Greyjoy, approaching them while bringing his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stretched his neck.

"Tell me Theon, you couldn't sleep either or did the Snapping turtles assaulted you in your dreams as well?" Robb questioned with a knowing smirk.

"They didn't invade my dreams! I just had nice ones," retorted Theon, rolling his eyes.

"You mean the ones where you're in bed with a whore women?" asked Robb.

"Yes," confirmed Theon.

Robb and Jon shook their heads in unison.

"And in case you're wondering, yes, I'm still shaken up over those damn Snapping Turtles," Theon declared. "That's the last time I'm ever going skinny dipping in a pond. Those damn things almost chomped off my balls."

Robb chuckled in response. "Wouldn't that be quite unfortunate considering that lake is filled with giant lizards?"

"Not funny."

"I think you should consider yourself lucky since you escaped unscathed."

Theon crossed his arms over his chest. "I know."

"Maybe next time you would take my father's heed seriously, Theon." Jon suggested. "It's not wise for a ward to drop their guard."

"He's right, Theon," added Robb. "When in the heat of battle, it's important to stay alert at all times. You never know when an attack may come. If you let your guard down even for a second – you could die."

Theon smirked.

"Oh I know, you need not to remind me."

LOCATION: KINGS WOOD

The Doom Slayer calmly started down the dirt road. Clouds gathered overhead, blocking out the morning sunlight. A flock of birds flew by the path as he marched steadily. Though he couldn't see the wild animals, he could feel there were a-hundred eyes watching him from the forest. He ignored them. He had been in far worse danger before.

The dirt path was flanked by towering trees and dense foliage. The forest was like a lost world, seemingly untouched by the hands of man. It was a different kind of world that disconnects one from the familiarities of civilization and transports them to a realm of raw, natural beauty. But it is also primordial and untamed. The trees towered a hundred feet high, their branches reaching towards the sky. The thick undergrowth created a wall of vegetation that swallowed the faint sunlight, casting a green hue over everything in its path. Despite its beauty, it was also a place where man was weak and vulnerable.

The Doom Slayer couldn't deny that he was astonished by the vast array of flora and fauna that the forest had to offer. The untouched splendor of pure wilderness left him in silent awe, as he marveled at the intricate details of each plant and the unique characteristics of every bird that flew by. It left a lasting impression on him that brought back fond memories.

The Doom Slayer proceeded forward at a leisurely pace. His steps cautious as he felt the soft, decomposing forest floor sink beneath his bulky boots. He gazed over the undergrowth, past the trees, and observed the mist lingering in the space beyond. The air was heavy with the scent of mold and mildew, as well as the decay of plants and animal matter. As the Slayer traversed the forest, he was greeted by the familiar sounds of birds, something he hadn't heard for eons.

The Slayer recapped in his head what has happened to him so far. After defeating the Dark Lord he fell extremely ill or weak and passed out. He remembered that the Father told him about the Dark Lord being his creator, but the Slayer already heard that from the Dark Lord before he killed him. He somehow ended up on this earth that's similar to his but looked as though he was transported back to the eighteen-hundreds. The clothes the men he killed donned were evident.

The Slayer glanced down at the earth's dirt floor. Even though he didn't have much of a plan for now, he would hope to figure out something in how to get out of this realm. While there wasn't a lot left for him on earth, it was still his home. And who knows what threat will arise. The Seraphim, who the Father saved from the Slayer's hands, is still out there. Maybe he'll do something.

But only time will tell.

The Doom Slayer closed his eyes while still striding forward. With nothing much going on through his peaceful stride, he decided to use this time for himself to think. One of the big things he thought about is what got him here in the first place. He started to rethink his whole battle with the Dark Lord.

"For too long have I been imprisoned by my own creations. You will not stop my vengeance, nor the one who betrayed me...tell him."

...

"He is the first being... and my creator. When he fell, I ascended."

...

"They lied to you, Slayer. Immora and its people, would have been perfect if not for the treachery of my servants...As all things were made by my hands and soon shall be unmade. Starting with you."

...

"Have you nothing to say to...your creator? Before you strike him down."

...

"By his hand, all things were made. Even you."

...

A mean glare formed on the Slayer's countenance. Those words that were relayed to him by the Dark Lord and the Father echoed in the back of his mind. He had been lied to about it all. The Dark Lord, his biggest threat, was his maker. But what he didn't understand still, is why he fell ill or became extremely weak after he killed the Dark Lord.

It wasn't like every person still alive on earth died out when the Dark Lord did. No, they had parents who had to give birth to them; and it wasn't like the Dark Lord was the Slayer's father either. That was something he wanted to know. He believed he still had his strength and all the additional strength given to him by the Divinity Machine.

Or did he?

The Doom Slayer clenched both of his fists. He didn't know if the Seraphim did something to him in retaliation, because he still had pure argent flowing through his body. He knew he would have a lot of time to think about it here, which was honestly a weird thought. In his world, he could always do something at least. Kill off the demonic threat or any threat, build something on his workbench or just work on something.

All he really could do was think about things.

The Doom Slayer glanced up and saw something from a faraway distance. From sixty feet away he saw a village nestled on a wide clearing on the left side of the dirt road, surrounded by thick tall trees. He slowly approached closer and found wooden houses dotting the area. The buildings were old, but in good condition, as evidenced from the cleanliness of the surrounding areas. The streets leading into the village were lined with cobblestones.

A vast multitude of individuals of varying two genders were milling about the bustling street. The jovial sounds of children's laughter and giggles filled the air as they spent their leisure time frolicking on another day of playtime with their friends. However, the peaceful atmosphere paused when the Slayer entered the village and started forward. When the Slayer was walking down the street, he received looks from every single person he passed by. Some whispered things regarding him as he passed by, but he didn't acknowledge it.

After a few minutes the Slayer exited the village. He turned and walked down a new dirt road without stopping. Some of the villagers, ranging from men, women, children, and elderly trailed after him until they stopped near the gate.

Everyone watched in wonderment silence as the Hell-Walker advanced through the road before disappearing behind a cluster of trees.

LOCATION: THE RED KEEP

King's Landing is both the capital and largest city of the Six Kingdoms. Once a home to the Targaryens that lived long ago, now reigned supreme by the Lanisters. Located on the east coast of Westeros in the Crownlands, just north of where the Blackwater Rush flows into Blackwater Bay and overlooking Blackwater Bay.

John Arryn approached the small council's doors. Everyone in the kingdom knows John as the Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and the head of House Arryn. He served as the first Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon. His house is known to all as one of the Great Houses of Westeros.

John is a respected nobleman and fostered both Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon during their adolescence. Long ago the Mad King condoned the alleged kidnapping of Eddard's sister, Lyanna, who was also Robert's betrothed, and demanded that Eddard and Robert, still in the Vale, be turned over to the King's justice. But John rebelled instead, and called his banners to war. House Stark and House Baratheon followed suit not too long after that. The rebels forged an alliance with House Tully through marriage, with Eddard married to Catelyn Tully and the then-elderly John to the young Lysa Tully.

Robert acceded to the throne and appointed John as his Hand after the rebel victory in the war. John served the realm well for many years as Hand of the King. Indeed, he had been holding the realm together for seventeen years, while Robert drank, ate and whored his way through his reign.

John entered into the council chambers to find four members of the small council waiting for him. The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.

The eunuch Varys, accosted him the moment he entered.

"Lord Arryn, I was grievously sad to hear of the passing of your companion, Tadd Ridman. We all know how close you two were, and how loyal he was. I pray to the gods that he shall rest in eternal peace." "His hand left powder stains on Ned's sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave.

"Your gods have heard you," John replied, cool yet polite. "And indeed, Tadd was… was a good friend of mine."

John disentangled himself from the eunuch's grip and crossed the room to where Lord Renly stood by the screen. He glanced to see Renly talking quietly with a short man who he recognized as Littlefinger. John recalled that Renly had been a boy of eight when Robert won the throne, but he had grown into a man so like his brother that John found it disconcerting. Whenever he saw him, it was as if the years had slipped away and Robert stood before him, fresh from his victory on the Trident.

"I see you have arrived safely, Lord Arryn," Renly said.

"And you as well," John replied.

John started towards his seat. The king's seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of Baratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. John took the chair beside it, as the right hand of his king.

"My lords," he said formally, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting. After Ridman's passing I was invited by his family to attend his funeral and I couldn't just decline."

"You are the King's Hand," Varys said. "We serve at your pleasure, Lord Arryn."

John nodded at Varys in appreciation for his understanding. The others took their accustomed seats.

"Alright… shall we begin?"

Warning: this note will be long...

A/N: Welcome new readers, to a re-written series revolving our main protagonists: Doom Slayer. In this story, our demon killing machine will be crossovering to everyone's most favorite and hype HBO show - Game Of Thrones. This story I'll be writing is inspired by one story that some of you readers might be familiar with. That said story is called -A Song Of DOOM written by TheDrkknight12 I've read their story and was quite sad that it hadn't got an update in such a very long time. So I decided I'll just write one of my own and see where we will go from there. This will be my take on an alternate universe if Doom Slayer was transported into the world of Westeros. I'll be writing his interactions with all the characters, slow character development, and more.

Hope you enjoy the first chapter! This story takes place on the eighteenth year on Westeros, further more, two years before the main events of Game of Thrones. As you all have read, yes, this story takes place after the events in Doom: Eternal - Ancient Gods - Part 2. Some of you might notice the similarities of this chapter's beginning once you first read it; I want to make it clear that I had no intention of copying someone's work, this is just how I wanted this chapter to start off at.

So just to answer a few questions. I plan on doing my own thing when writing this story. I'm not gonna turn this into an exact copy of the Song of Doom. That would just be me disrespecting and insulting the author's work and I don't want that at all. I also plan making this story a balance between not just show but possibly the book as well, I'm not sure yet.

One thing is for sure though, the Doom Slayer's very presence and strength is gonna shake up the world. Before I end this note, there's something I wanna make very clear. Something I've notice while I was away. I apologize if there's barely any updates on this story, but just because there's no said updates doesn't mean it'll never continue. Not unless i announce that I am canceling this story.

I'm a writer like everyone else on this site, this is true. But I also have a life too. So I'll be busy every now and then, which is exactly why I wanted to rewrite not only this story but the first chapter as well. Also, I want to announce that at March 11 - 2024, I will be on a long hiatus, and I won't be back until April 10 - 2024. With all of that said, I'll be taking my leave. See you in the next chapter!

...

OH!

I almost forgot! For every published chapter, I'll reveal a sneak peak preview of what's in store for the next chapter. With that said, here's a sneak peak for chapter 2!

CHAPTER 2 - SNEAK PEAK

Cersei arched a brow at the elderly man.

"Gone?" Cersei echoed.

"Yes, Princess," the villager confirmed. "Have any of you seen any raiders before arriving here?"

Cersei, Jamie, and Tyrion glanced at each other with bewilderment adorning their countenances before shifting their gaze back to the villager.

"No," Tyrion replied. "We haven't seen any raiders since we've arrived here."

The villager turned away and proceeded handing out apples to another client.

"That's because there aren't any left," he said. "They've all been outcompeted by one man..."