"Hey, you."

The thuggish man stirred from his restless slumber. A disheveled-looking blond in blue armor was speaking to him. They were sitting in a horse-drawn carriage.

"You were at that Imperial ambush, right? You looked so confused and angry, like you didn't know what was going on. I don't know what you were after, but...my heart goes out to you."

He looked himself over. His armor had been replaced by rags, and ropes bound his wrists. Not the first time he was in such a predicament. Since he needed to know what was going on before he could take action, he opted not to immediately tear his bonds and go berserk. He responded with a simple grunt.

"A man of few words, eh? Well... it's not like words will help us soon."

The man looked around. Another blond man was in the carriage; this one was dressed in opulent robes, but was further bound by a gag over his mouth. Last was a brown-haired man who reeked of cowardice.

The third person, who, in his head, was already called 'Asshole-inator 9000' spoke up, addressing the man who had greeted the brute.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell."

Oh great, someone who steals domestic animals from their owners. Another grunt from the big one, prompting Asshole-inator to look his way.

"You there. You and me — we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The not-gagged blond man gave him a sad look.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The carriage driver, a person in metallic armor with red accents, hollered, "Shut up back there!"

The big guy gave an affirmative grunt and a nod to the blond. This one was a good man.

The gagged noble made a muffled sound, prompting the Asshole-inator to turn to him.

"And what's wrong with him?"

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

The big guy deduced based on context clues that Sovngarde was the afterlife for the people of the world he had ended up in. He could only surmise this was another world, after all he had seen so far.

Horse thief didn't take it so well.

"No, this can't be happening," he protested. "This isn't happening."

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm…I'm from Rorikstead."

Blondie glanced at the big guy.

"And what of you, friend?"

He remained silent, but he was reminiscing. Days before the invasions... Before he lost Daisy.

"Ah, I don't mean to trouble you."

He raised a hand, as if to say, 'it's alright'.

The carriage arrived at a town, following another carriage in front of it. The place was primitive in structure, made of wood and stone at best.

A soldier called out, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

An important-looking guy responded, "Good. Let's get this over with."

Among him were some yellowy-skinned folk with pointed ears.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me," prayed the Asshole-inator.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor," explained blondie. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

The Doom Slayer, for there is no longer any point in keeping his identity a mystery, didn't know anything about any elves, but he had already made up his mind. The bloodshed would end with him, one way or another.

As they pulled into town, the Slayer raised an eyebrow at blondie, silently asking him to exposit more.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

It was the same way Doomguy felt about the UAC. Once, in a life that seemed to be eons ago, he trusted the corporation with all his heart. Whatever was left of that trust was shattered when he finally made it back to Earth after his long venture through Hell and Argent D'nur, and found out what they had been up to in his absence.

The carriages drove past a father and son.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?"

The Slayer raised his head.

"You need to go inside, little cub," the father instructed.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

He lowered his head.

The carriages finally came to a stop in front of a chopping block in the center of town, with a masked headsman at the ready. Imperial soldiers were standing at attendance all about.

"Why are they stopping?" asked Asshole-inator.

"Why do you think? End of the line." The blondie was the first to step off the cart.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

Horse-fucker still pleaded. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

Asshole looked at the Slayer and found no mercy in his eyes. Panicking, he turned back to blondie.

"Y... you've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

A more heavily-armored woman, the Imperial Captain, ordered, "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."

"Empire loves their damn lists," cursed the blondie.

A despondent-looking man with a list on paper called the first name. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

Well, Doomguy knew that one already. Whatever a Jarl was, at any rate.

As the Jarl approached the chopping block, blondie said, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!"

The list continued.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Blondie stepped forth — so his name was Ralof. Good to know.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

Meh. Doomguy thought 'Asshole-inator' sounded better.

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Lokir suddenly took off in a sprint.

"Halt!" called the captain.

"You're not going to kill me!"

The command of, "Archers!" quickly put an end to the horse thief's delusions. An arrow stuck him in the back, and he died as he lived — like a colossal douche.

"Anyone else feel like running?"

The Slayer stared down the Captain, retorting to her quip with a 'fuck around and find out' sort of expression.

"Don't get cocky. You'll join him soon..." she hesitated, shaken by the stare that bore down on her soul.

"...enough..."

List-man interjected, "Wait. You there."

Doomguy instantly snapped to attention, his military training kicking in.

"Step forward."

He stepped forward.

"Who are you?"

The broken man, ex-soldier, ex-champion, ex-hero, he who had sworn a vow of silence never to bring ruin with his words as he had done to the Night Sentinels, finally spoke. It was driven by the long-buried instinct to respond to a commanding officer.

"Blazkowicz."

This gave the man with the list pause.

"Blazkowicz...? I don't know of anywhere on Tamriel where people have names like that."

He turned to the captain.

"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list," she replied.

"He goes to the block."

The Slayer glared daggers at the Captain for this, but without his armor, he was not intimidating enough to sway her.

"By your orders, captain." List-man turned to the Slayer.

"I don't know where you come from, but we'll ensure you receive proper burial rites."

At least this one had some respect. The Slayer deduced he must be a good man, like Ralof.

"Follow the Captain, prisoner," he said.

The Doom Slayer went to the block with the others. There were more Stormcloaks there, and General Tullius, too.

Tullius addressed Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric merely grunted in protest, gagged as he was.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Of course, someone like Tullius had to make a speech. The moment he started yammering, the Slayer had half a mind to rip and tear through the ropes and show him what for...but it wasn't the right time yet. He waited.

He knew he was right to wait when a sound like a demon's roar echoed down from afar.

"What was that?" asked list-man.

"It's nothing. Carry on," ordered General Tullius.

"Yes, General Tullius." The captain turned to a priestess-looking lady.

"Give them their last rites."

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved—"

She was interrupted by one of the miscellaneous Stormcloaks stepping to the front of the line.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

This left Doomguy with mixed feelings. On one hand, he had heard enough holy speeches for a lifetime. On the other, rude.

"As you wish..." the priestess hesitantly replied.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning." The Stormcloak brazenly walked right up to the block and set his head down. As the headsman raised his axe, he spat one last remark.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

And then, off went his head.

Another Stormcloak shouted, "You Imperial bastards!"

A man jeered back, "Justice!" while a woman added, "Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"As fearless in death as he was in life," remarked Ralof, to which the Slayer nodded grimly.

"Next, the big brute!"

As the Slayer approached the block, there came another roar, louder and closer.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" asked list-man.

"I said, next. Prisoner!"

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Doomguy walked right up and set his head down. One of two outcomes was imminent. Either something would interrupt his execution, as he suspected would happen... or he would break that axe with his teeth.

The headsman raised his axe, and then Doomguy beheld a sight he never thought he'd see again. A fucking real-ass dragon, barreling towards Helgen.

Although this one clearly wasn't friendly.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" cried Tullius.

"Sentries! What do you see?" called the Captain.

A soldier responded, "It's in the clouds!"

It landed on top of the tower next to the execution in progress.

"Dragon!" cried the nameless surviving Stormcloak.

The dragon made a strange noise like an echoing inhale, then exhaled a shockwave that killed the headsman instantly.

"Don't just stand there, kill that thing!" Tullius ordered.

"Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"

Ralof ran up to the Slayer.

"Hey, get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

Go time.

Doomguy ripped through his bonds with the ease of tearing a piece of paper, to Ralof's shock, grabbed the executioner's axe, and then... nodded.

Understandably rattled by this feat of strength, the Stormcloak struggled to find his voice.

"Er... This way!"

Ralof led the Doom Slayer to a tower, where Ulfric and the surviving Stormcloak prisoners were hiding.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

The Jarl's gag had finally been undone, and so he could answer.

"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move, now!"

"Up through the tower. Let's go!" Ralof headed on up the tower...but Doomguy took the lead.

They came up to where the stairs were blocked by rubble, and two Stormcloaks were trying to move it out of the way.

"We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!" one shouted.

That was interrupted when the dragon's head burst in through the wall, spewing fire all over the place.

"Get back!" cried Ralof.

But there was to be no backing down on this day. The Doom Slayer brought his axe down on the dragon's head with enough force to make it flinch and go reeling back, not just from the damage dealt, but from the sheer surprise at this mortal man having the balls to go in swinging. It reconsidered and moved to go terrorize some other part of the town.

Ralof just kind of stared. Doomguy looked out the hole left by the dragon and saw some struggling figures amidst burning houses. After a moment, Ralof came up to survey as well.

The two shared a look.

"I've come to know you more quickly than I thought possible," said Ralof.

"Go. We'll catch up with you!"

The Slayer jumped out the hole, fell through a roof, and landed in front of the list-guy, with the boy he had seen on the way into this place standing nearby.

"Haming, you need to get over here now!" the list-reader ordered, coaxing the child to his side.

"Thataboy. You're doing great! Torolf!" he called to the boy's father next.

"Gods..."

Cue the dragon again.

"Everyone get back!" yelled the list-man, as the dragon descended upon them and unleashed a cone of fire breath. Instinctively, Doomguy dove to cover the list-man and the kid. The flame seared his bare back — one more injury on top of the thousands he had already endured. Torolf was incinerated.

It finally clicked with the Imperial that something was abnormal about this ex-prisoner.

"You're no mere man, are you? Very well, come with me. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

Another soldier, Gunnar, came in and took the boy by the hand.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," he said, before making his exit.

Finally, Doomguy could stop thinking of Hadvar as 'list-man'. As they proceeded along, the dragon landed on the wall next to them.

"Stay close to the wall!" barked Hadvar, and they pressed themselves against its stone surface.

With a vaguely comprehensible shout of "Vol Toor Shul!" the dragon added onto the current fuck-sandwich with a meteor shower. Flaming stones began raining from the sky, making explosions that left small craters wherever they landed.

"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar said.

They ran ahead to the main gate, where they saw Imperial soldiers firing arrows at the dragon. It didn't seem to be doing much.

"Tell my family I fought bravely!" declared a wounded villager.

Moments later, Hadvar and the Doom Slayer ran into General Tullius, who noticed them and called out.

"Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we're leaving!"

"It's you and me, prisoner, stay close!" Hadvar led Doomguy towards the keep.

The cries of the Imperials echoed out as they ran by.

"Die, dragon!"

"How in Oblivion do we kill this thing? Just...die!"

As they reached the keep, they ran into Ralof.

Hadvar drew his sword, to the Slayer's consternation.

"Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time."

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

"You, come on! Into the keep!" called Ralof.

"With me, prisoner! Let's go! Come on! We need to get inside!" ordered Hadvar.

Friend or superior, friend or superior... Doomguy shrugged his shoulders.

One more word.

"Armor?"

Both men paused. After a moment, it seemed to click with them.

"The armor that was taken from you in the ambush?" asked Ralof.

"It might still be in the keep," said Hadvar.

"We wouldn't have transferred it elsewhere."

And this was the part where things went a bit off the rails. Doomguy rushed into the keep, ahead of either Ralof or Hadvar. They tried to stop him, but he was already gone.

On his way in, he encountered a wooden gate. There was a chain mechanism right next to it. While he analyzed the situation, the Slayer heard a pair of voices.

"We need to get moving! That dragon is tearing up the whole keep!"

"Just give me a minute...I'm out of breath..."

He smashed through the gate with his fist and walked into the room beyond, a chamber with several paths.

Two Stormcloaks arrived at the same time, saw him standing there menacingly with an axe in hand and splinters of reinforced material behind him, and were understandably concerned enough to draw their weapons. However, instead of even entertaining the idea of a battle, he just stomped his way right past them, leaving them in befuddled silence.

He went downstairs and ran into some Imperials, one giving orders to another.

"Grab everything important and let's move! The dragon is burning everything to the ground."

"Just need to gather some more potions... Hey, what's this?"

The second soldier held up a green suit of armor. It was covered in extra gear and had a polish that was not of the world they were in.

"Looks valuable."

Doomguy made his presence known by snorting like a bull, scaring the Imperial into dropping the Praetor Suit, which he proceeded to catch by the collar.

The first Imperial drew his sword and ran at the Slayer from behind, but he was nonchalantly dodged, and the Slayer knocked the wind out of him with a single punch.

Seeing the Slayer as more like some monster than a man, the other Imperial stayed put, cowering in fear. The Slayer ignored him as he dumped his prisoner rags and suited up.

At last, he put his helmet on, and it was as if he could finally breathe again. No guns, and he wasn't likely to find any here. But the Equipment Launcher, Flame Belch and other systems seemed to be working just fine. This, he could do.

He picked the axe back up off the floor, now really looking like a monster to the poor, terrified Imperial, and stormed back out the way he came, where he ran into Ralof.

"Ah, I see you found it," remarked the Stormcloak.

No shit.

The two proceeded deeper into the keep, where they came upon a room filled with cages, corpses, and sounds of fighting.

"Troll's blood!" Ralof exclaimed.

"It's a torture room. Hear that?"

Now was the time to get violent. Doomguy dashed into the room, and to the fighting pairs of Stormcloak soldiers and Imperial torturers, it was as if an armored death machine had just manifested in their presence. The torturer backed away and used a lightning spell, blasting the Doom Slayer with a torrent of electricity. The Slayer did not visibly react to the attack, and responded by launching a small glowing-white object from his shoulder, which exploded into a cloud of frost that froze the torturer solid. He then shattered the torturer with a blow of his axe before impaling his assistant with a blade that extended from the gauntlet on his right forearm.

Regardless of their Empire's intent to execute him, the Imperial soldiers could live. He would not suffer mercy for anyone who willingly put other humans through prolonged pain.

"Your armor..." noted one of the Stormcloaks, a man.

"Only Dwemer technology is so advanced. Where did you get that?"

The other, a woman, chimed in, "Dwemer is all golden and rusty, not like that. Even more perplexing."

Doomguy gave a non-answer in the form of a simple nod to them.

In the meantime, Ralof caught up.

"Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" he asked the other Stormcloaks.

The female Stormcloak shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."

Surveying the room, Ralof noticed a cage with a body and supplies in it.

"Wait a second," he said as the Slayer was already beginning to leave, giving him pause.

"It looks like there's something in this cage."

Ralof shook the cage door, which rattled but did not open.

"Ah, it's locked. Can I ask you to employ your strength?"

Eh, why not. Doomguy trudged back over, lifted a leg, and kicked. The cage door, lock, hinges and all, came flying off its frame and slammed into the wall behind it.

He then turned and resumed walking away.

"Do you want any of the supplies?" Ralof asked.

Doomguy grunted in declination and turned to leave again. On his way out, a book on a table caught his eye. It was titled The Book of the Dragonborn.

His mood momentarily perked up. He did love to read. Stranded as he was in this world with no idea of how to get back, he might as well indulge in the lore.

He took the book and read it while he continued on his way, as the Stormcloaks followed at a safe distance.

So this was a world of gods and magic, seemingly entirely disconnected from the Hell he knew. Dragons were somewhere between gods and mortals, and further between dragons and mortals were the Dragonborn, those with the blood and soul of a dragon but the body of a mortal. While this was a divine right to rule, it was also a source of special powers.

The book also contained a prophecy from something called an Elder Scroll.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

Doomguy snapped the book shut and put it away in his suit inventory. When he looked up, he realized he was surrounded by armed and very confused men and women. The Imperials were where he had been going, and the Stormcloaks had been following him. While he had been walking and reading, the two groups had met around him.

Was he really so out-of-place that they were too baffled by the sight of him to fight?

...Yeah. Probably.

The surrounding area resembled more of a natural cave than a basement. There was only one way forward.

The Doom Slayer grunted and resumed walking.

"Hey, wait!" one of the Imperial soldiers shouted, but he couldn't be bothered to stop.

That was, until he stepped across a drawbridge, and the dragon's distant roar caused the cave ceiling between him and the soldiers to collapse. He turned around and pulverized the debris with his fist to clear the path, a solution that he was finding as useful in this world as it had been in any before.

The groups had begun to converge on each other, but now all eyes were on the Slayer once more. He slammed the executioner's axe into the ground hard enough to embed it in stone like a buried mythical weapon. He left it there and just glared at the members of the warring factions through his helmet, until they slowly, cautiously sheathed their weapons.

"Heh." Another vocalization that was more than just a grunt. One that sounded cheerful, at that.

He turned back to the path forward and continued until he reached a cave full of massive, thick webbing. Gee, I wonder if the place is inhabited by giant spiders?

Yup, there they were. Orange with hairy legs and armor-like bodies. Would fit in with demons if their eyes glowed.

Doomguy stood still, pumped his left arm, and deployed the retractable sword attached to it, the Doomblade. As one spider spat a glob of venom, he took a step and shifted several meters out of the way in a blur of motion, then dashed up close and cut it down with a single slash of the Doomblade.

Two more ganged up on him and bit him, their fangs scraping against his armor. He grabbed one, slammed it on top of the other, and punched downward to impale them both with the Doomblade before retracting it to drop them.

That was that. The Slayer pushed his way deeper into the caverns, uncaring of his surroundings, until he entered a wide-open chamber with a sleeping bear on the other side, and the light of the sun behind it.

Bears could be nasty, but some could be relatively docile, even timid. Doomguy could afford to test his luck, so he simply walked through.

Sadly, the bear woke up cranky and bellowed at him. When he did not budge, it lunged to bite at him, and swiftly paid the price as the Doomblade slid through its head with ease.

With his final obstacle gone, the Doom Slayer escaped to freedom.


Hello, readers! This is a fanfic I started writing well before DOOM: The Dark Ages was announced. In fact, it might have been older than the first fic I published here, Fire Emblem Fates: Corruption. I just got stuck after the fight with the Imperial torturers and never continued far enough to reach a satisfying chapter end until recently.

On that note, because of how much of a sandbox Skyrim is, I'm actually unsure of where to take the story, so readers can submit suggestions for what Doomguy should do and where he should go! You can suggest anything, and it might happen next chapter or later, even if it's as minor as an obscure unmarked quest in a random dungeon. There will probably be stricter rules going forward, but I have yet to shape them.