How I Met My Doom

by SheosMan117

So, this comes courtesy of a movie, somewhat. A demonic cult in a fantasy world is about to sacrifice an Elven maiden to a demon. However, when the summoned demon is supposed to appear, it's the Doom Slayer that appears instead, tossing Baphomet's head at them. (Baphomet is not listed as a character because lack of importance.) Lindalia has nowhere to go, so Slayer brings her home.

My end was coming, and I was terrified. I realized now I always should've been terrified, yet how could I, when it was the only life I had ever known? Our family castle, ancient and hidden in some forgotten and cursed part of the land where few adventurers dared to roam, that had belonged to my family for many generations, even by the standards of my fellow Elves, where we had longed worshiped demons. My family, as well as the cult that lived in the castle, had long rejected the gods of the land, worshiped by other Elves, Dwarves, and Men, in favor of who I had long been taught were the true rulers of the land. And for a while, I had believed. For the two centuries I had lived, I had believed. I had spat on the holy symbols of the land. I had reveled in the sins I was allowed, as I had yet to be intimate with a man, with my virginity kept intact. I had born witness to multiple demonic summonings, and had cheered at first as they forced themselves on virgins offered on the altar, and/or slew them, devouring their flesh and souls. I had known demons that had guarded the castle grounds and lands beyond, feasting on those adventurers brave enough to dare venture this far. I was in line to inherit it all, from the cult, to the castle, to the demons that served us just as we served the greater demons.

Yet everything changed when my younger sister was sacrificed. Her cries of anguish as the latest demon my father had summoned took her, her wrists bleeding as she struggled against the chains binding her to the altar, awoke something within me. Nobody really cared about anyone here. Tinesi was only a century old when she was bound unwillingly to the altar. Her cries for help would scar my psyche as a summoned demon raped her, then devoured her alive. I had sat down to think, realizing what was going on. All of it was to let the true masters of the world take their rightful place again, I had been told time and time again. The demons would strike down false gods and kings and unite all under them. But would that world be better than what we had? Not that my knowledge of the outside world was anything to speak of. If anything, I barely knew much more than the fact it existed. And of course there was the fact that because of who I had learned it from, there was the question of accuracy. But I knew it had to be better than here. I had packed what little I had, and had escaped in the night.

Only to have a patrolling demon catch me. I had been berated, beaten, abused, and starved in a cell, all to prepare me for my eventual sacrifice to a powerful demon by the name of Baphomet. What he would do to me, I had no idea, though based on what I had seen previous demons do, I could guess.

Soon, the night came. I had been stripped naked, my wrists and ankles bound to the sacrificial altar by heavy chains, all to present myself for when Baphomet would come and claim me. My blonde hair that went to the small of my back was dirty and frayed, my hairless body covered in the scars of torture, with my breasts bearing many a burn across their generous shapely curves. The only thing intact was my womanhood, yet my legs were forced spread for all to see, ready for Baphomet to claim my virginity. My green eyes darted around the room, though I often lingered on the summoning pentagram from which Baphomet would appear, wishing I could cover my ears to avoid hearing my father, the father who never really loved me I had realized, chant the summoning spell for Baphomet. I also avoided looking at my mother, her heart also devoid of love as she had been the one who had secured me into the chains. As my father finished his summon, the dark smoke began to materialize within the pentagram, ready for Baphomet to step out.

Yet, he didn't. Elves were always sensitive to magic, sensitive to things that went missed by normal senses. I should've felt the darkness upon my soul that heralded the arrival of a demon, yet I didn't. I could feel SOMETHING was present however within the smoke. The first sign of anything physical when something was thrown, a large object landing at my father's feet. Even I could see from my position, and we all recognized it at once. I had seen woodcuts of Baphomet, all showing him to bear a form resembling a winged humanoid goat. The ancient scrolls named him as the one who wounded the gods, one of the chief demons to summon to bring about the End of Days. It was he who had wounded the gods and forced them to retreat from the world. Yet now, to everyone's shock, his head lay at my father's feet. Demons were unkillable, we had all been told. No weapon, mortal or divine, could kill a demon, only at best banish it back to its realm. Even then, among mortals, it took the best smiths of Elves and Dwarves to make weapons placed in the hands of the mightiest and holiest of Men to do it. Yet here lay the head of one of the mightiest of demons, his face twisted into an expression I believed demons incapable of feeling. Baphomet had died in a pain I had only seen before in the faces of torture victims.

Nobody had time to linger, as something stepped out of the shadows, or rather someone. It was humanoid, with a build that resembled that of Men, only even the mightiest of Men were six feet at the tallest, perhaps a little over. This individual was clearly seven, towering over everyone present, even some demons were not as tall as him. I only assumed he was male because he lacked female curves, though that was the least thing on anyone's mind. He was dressed in a green armor of strange make, one that covered his entire body though exposing his biceps, larger than any that the mightiest champions of Men bore. There was no obvious chainmail, no separation between plates typical of most armors, there was nothing that resembled any armor I had ever seen. Adorning his left hand was an extended blade mounted on the side of the cuff of his gauntlet, dripping with fresh blood the same color that flowed out of Baphomet's head. A blade that then retracted, so it was now out of the way of his hand. We could also see a device of strange make, adorning his left shoulder.

The most striking feature however, was his helmet. It bore somewhat of a resemblance to an open-faced helmet, the face was hidden by a dark-green glass that even Elven eyes could not penetrate. Yet his face was definitely felt, even if it wasn't seen. All could feel this man's gaze upon them. Even I could feel that his gaze pierced flesh and soul, eyes that had born witness to things that at most, only gods had, and even then, that his eyes had seen things no eyes had, mortal, demonic, or divine.

It was only then that we all began to feel something else. Whoever he was, he was angry. No, that was putting it lightly. He didn't feel anger, he WAS anger, the emotion given flesh. We could feel that he loathed the existence of demonkind, and he sought to eliminate them all. I also got to witness another emotion on a demon's face I thought impossible. That of fear, moreso, some were more alarmed than others. In those, I could see that they were not just afraid, they KNEW of him. Whoever he was, he made the strongest of summoned demons quiver in a fear that resembled what a child would feel if said child had met a demon. Children spoke of monsters under their beds and in their closets. This man was what demonkind spoke of in the same manner.

However, as he glanced around the room, he looked at the altar I was bound to, and for a minute, though I could not tell how long it truly was, I knew our eyes locked. Even if I could not see his eyes, I knew I was looking directly into them. It was during that minute, that I felt his gaze soften. I knew not how I knew, but I knew he meant me no harm. That all would be all right in the end. Was it telepathy? Empathy? I had no way to tell. It could've been both. It could've been neither. I just knew that I would not die this day. I would be safe, however I also knew that for a while, things would get unpleasant to witness, be it with eyes or ears.

When he broke his gaze, I pouted internally. I didn't want to look away. Though I could feel his anger again, yet I felt it flow around me. I was marooned, stuck on an island as a river of anger rushed around me. I also noticed something appear out of thin air in his hands. It was a strange device of steel, yet somehow I knew it was a weapon, though it bore no resemblance to any weapon I had ever known. It bore a trigger, similar to a crossbow, though with a tube and a front grip that looked like it moved. How it functioned, I could not determine. What was the most interesting, is I could not feel any magic within the weapon. Or rather, it bore no magic of its own. It had power, yes, however the power came from the man himself, power that flowed from him and into the weapon.

I was under the belief his rage was at its peak, yet what happened next proved it had not. Music began to play, a strange deep music that stirred primal emotions, music that showed his rage as clearly as if he had been screaming. The strange part was to my ears, it did not come from him. The music came from everywhere and nowhere, music as if the very air itself channeled the wrath felt within. At a timely part, he moved the foregrip of his weapon back and forth, the sound echoing off the stone of the sacrificial chamber, as unseen parts within the weapon moved with unknown purpose, as he pointed the weapon at the nearest demon.

The demon in question attacked, yet the man dodged out of the way. I didn't even see what happened, he had just rapidly moved out of the way, and I saw his finger squeeze the trigger on his weapon just as the music began to reach a crescendo. A sound that most closely resembled thunder echoed through the hall, and the demon stumbled back, its body now bearing holes that bled profusely. The man racked the sliding foregrip again, and I saw the weapon eject something. A small short tube, red in color with a brass end, fell to the ground as he rushed forward, the blade on his wrist extending into the demon's chest right where the heart would be, and he swept his arm up, cleaving the body in two. Another demon rushed him only to meet the same fate, though his final death happened with the blade going through its skull.

However, what shocked all was what happened after their deaths. Demons may not have possessed souls in the traditional sense, but they possessed something that occupied the place where a soul would've gone. All elves could sense this essence whenever a demon was close. We expected that dead demons would have their essence rush back to their realm. Yet we could all feel that was not the case. No, they went to the man, to the demon killer. He didn't just kill demons, he devoured their very essence, using what passed for a demonic soul as fuel for his unending rage.

Then my father, or rather the man involved in my birth as I no longer wanted to acknowledge the existence of either parent, rushed the man from behind, wielding the sacrificial dagger that we had owned for as long as we had been worshiping demons. He stabbed in a spot that looked weak, yet the blade made of some of the hardest metal in the land didn't even scratch the armor. I would've cried out to warn the demon killer, yet my voice was hoarse from lack of water. Yet it seemed that it wouldn't have mattered, as I watched a dagger that had pierced armor not make a dent. The demon killer revealed more surprises however, as he spun around to face my father. With one hand, he yanked the dagger out of my father's hand, and he snapped the blade in one hand like it was made of thin pig iron. This weapon was allegedly made with demonic help, and was supposed to be indestructible.

However the demon killer snapped it with the ease of someone breaking a thin stick. His weapon was gone now, replaced with another. The hilt, if it could be called that, was yellow, with two grips, one for each hand. The blade however was a different story. The shape was a simple curve without a point, yet the blade did not bear simple edges. Instead it bore teeth, teeth that when the demon killer pulled a string, began to move around the blade, and when the rear grip was squeezed, spun faster than the eye could see, a cacophonous noise coming from the weapon, as well as a faint stench. I couldn't tell what powered this weapon, yet it was nothing known to me.

What was known was its effect. The demon killer shoved the weapon into my father's shoulder, the man screaming in pain as the spinning teeth cut flesh and bone with ease. His screams turned to silence as the weapon exited his body near his stomach, the two halves of his body sliding in different directions. Normally his soul would've gone to the demonic realm upon death, yet I could sense that was not the case. The demon killer did not just devour that which powered demons. He fed on the souls of cultists as well. All could sense that if they died this day, there would be no afterlife, no serving the demonic powers in death we had pledged allegiance to in life. No, the souls of the dead would were nothing more than food for the demon killer.

Next the demon killer got rushed by some of our Unholy Paladins, powerful warriors with demonic heritage, their infernal blades drawn in rage. Once, I had thought the wrath of an Unholy Paladin was a fearsome sight to behold. Now they were mere insects before the embodiment of Wrath itself. The device on the demon killer's shoulder raised, and something shot out, freezing the attackers solid. Even then, I felt no magic, despite what I thought I should feel. I think in some half-remembered lesson I had been taught that there were Dwarven clans experimenting with complex weapons, yet this had to be far more advanced than anything they had. Once frozen, the demon killer swung his fist at the closest Unholy Paladin, the massive armored gauntlet shattering the half-demon. What was almost unsurprising by this point was the fact that a shockwave of energy flew out from his fist, shattering the rest.

The next weapon in his hands was large, the demon killer holding it from above, the weapon splitting into four sets of barrels that began to spin. The noise they made was loud, and I would've covered my ears if my hands weren't bound out of the way. The effect however was immediate, as cultist and demon alike all stumbled backwards, holes in their bodies bleeding fresh blood. It was only then that I realized how his weapons must work. There must be small projectiles within, being fired out at incredible speeds, and in incredible volume.

I then saw some of our Infernal Sorcerers rush into the sacrificial chamber, drawn by the commotion, immediately chanting as they raised their hands to project wards that formed a phalanx of magical energy. The demon killer's answer was yet another strange weapon, one with a rectangular front end. This weapon spat out blue energy balls at a high rate of fire, that when they collided with the wards, caused the entire lineup of Infernal Sorcerers to explode.

From the other side, one of the larger demons smashed down the doors, roaring in anger. The demon killer pulled out yet another weapon, a large tube that he propped on his shoulder. I heard some beeping sounds, then three projectiles flew out, fire coming from their rear ends. Upon contact with the demon, they all exploded, making the demon roar in pain. The demon killer fired again, running towards the altar I was bound to, moving at a speed even the best unarmored sprinter could never match. And when he jumped, he jumped twice, the second time appeared as if he jumped off the air itself. I watched in fascination as he went over me with a grace reserved for only the most agile of Elves, the device on his shoulder activating again, though instead of ice, a jet of fire burst forth, catching the demon on fire. We had been taught that the demonic realm was one of fire, thus they were immune, yet the demon killer's fire burned a mighty demon with as if he was made of wood.

I had to wonder, was the demon killer a god? Yet we had been taught that even the strongest of the gods could only repel demonkind. Yet this individual slew demons with the ease of a seasoned adventurer being beset by rats. Besides that, the natural laws of the world did not seem to apply to him. Everything I had been taught about the world failed to explain him. He burned what should be immune to fire. Moved at speeds that would put our swiftest to shame, all while burdened by heavy armor. His strength was enough to destroy what he wished. That last thought caused a follow up thought, questioning if the demon killer needed his weapons at all, and if he didn't, why did he use them. Though no sooner than I thought that, that an answer came to me, however I could not tell whether it was my own mind that conjured the answer, or if it was something else. Why would he use weapons he doesn't need? Because his weapons hurt. Because his fist is a quick death. Because his desire was to make demonkind suffer, to make them beg for death. It was also to mock them, to show them that even as he held himself back, the demons had no chance against him. Paladins, those of the regular holy variety, offered mercy, sparing lives when they could, and providing quick clean deaths when death had to be dealt. The demon killer fought like an Unholy Paladin, reveling in the blood and pain of his enemies. It made me think of a term I had heard a few times, but had never fully understood before now. The demon killer was an anti-hero. I had never understood how someone could be neither a hero nor villain, yet the demon killer taught me how that was possible. His goals would make him an ally of any Paladin of the world, yet his methods were far from noble. True heroes never reveled in the suffering of their enemies.

Before long, the chamber was empty, save for the woman I had once thought of as my mother, who was now begging the demon killer for her life. Though I could see a dagger in her hand, hidden behind her back. As for the demon killer, he just silently looked at her, yet somehow, I could sense what was running through his mind. Why should she receive the mercy she denied to others? In one swift motion, I saw him shove his hand into her chest, with the sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping as his hand exited her back, a pulsing object contained within. One I realized had to be her heart, which slowly stopped beating as she dropped the dagger, slumping to the floor and sliding off of his hand.

The demon killer gave me another look, as the smell of death began to overtake me. I would've been sick, yet I hadn't eaten in a long time so there was nothing to come up save for bile.

The demon killer turned to face me, and somehow, I could feel the sympathy coming from him, especially as he walked closer. I could also feel that he knew he had just killed my mother, and my father earlier. Just then, more commotion indicated that more were on the way, and the demon killer turned, leaving the room to greet them in his violent way. As he left, I knew somehow he would be back, however he first had to single handedly kill every demon and cultist in the castle. Every. Last. One. He was going to be thorough, sweep room by room, and all who fought him would die. Then he would move onto the grounds, and anything associated with demons would soon draw their last breath. Armies meant nothing to him. He would kill them all regardless, until only he and I were all that remained who lived. And I only assumed he breathed because of vents as part of his helmet. As the sounds of music and battle faded into the distance, the trauma began to catch up with me. Merely an hour ago, I was going to be raped and killed by Baphomet. Now, I was all that remained in a room full of death. Fatigue overtook me, and despite the chains on my wrists and ankles, and the rough stone beneath my back, I passed out.

I knew not how long I slept for, if it could be called sleep. I knew it had been plagued by nightmares of the past, or even how things would've gone if the demon killer had not arrived. All I knew was that the candles in the room were low, and some of the torches barely glowed. There was hardly a sound to be heard, though I soon did hear something. Armored boots coming closer, which meant only one thing. The demon killer had finished his work, and was now coming back for me. It did make me think of the future. A few hours ago, if my reckoning was correct, I had no future. Now, I still wasn't sure. I knew nothing of the outside world. I had barely left the grounds. I did know that there would be other beasts of the land, non-demonic in nature yet still deadly, that could devour me. What future did I have, even now?

I barely had time to think further, when the demon killer walked back in, his hands empty of weapons, but he was carrying the bag I recognized as the one I was going to escape the castle with, only laden with more than I had originally packed. The blade along his arm was stained with the blood of innumerable foes, and his armor bore blood in other places as well. As he came up to me, I could feel my pulse quicken. He may have saved me, but I had no idea what he planned on now. One armored gauntlet grabbed my wrist with a gentleness I never expected him to be capable of. This was contrasted by his other hand forming a fist and slamming into the shackle my wrist was bound to, destroying the lock and making it fall off my wrist. He repeated the process for my other wrist, then doing the same for each ankle. As I got up and began to rub my sore wrists and ankles, the demon killer reached into the pack and pulled out a bottle I recognized as a health potion, handing it to me. I greedily drank it down, feeling its effects as the scars and wounds of torture knit themselves back together with speed. Then he handed me a canteen that was filled with ordinary water, soothing my parched throat and mouth. Finally he handed me some clothes, which I hurried to put on, the demon killer even turning away as I did so.

"Th-thank you," I barely managed to get out, my voice still hoarse despite the water. "I-I have nowhere to go," I admit to him with a whisper. "I've never left the grounds. I was born in this castle. I don't know how the world works. And what I do know might be false teachings."

The demon killer gives me a look, and I could sense his brain in motion, yet I could not determine to what end. However, a blue-rimmed portal opened in the air before him. Once again, like before, I sensed no magic to this portal, making me wonder how such things could be. Though it was almost not surprising, as everything I had seen about the demon killer's very existence spat in the face of everything I knew, whether they be the natural laws of the world, or any religious text. He picked up the backpack from before, hefting it over his shoulder, and almost made a motion as if to invite me through. However he stopped himself, and yet again, I somehow understood why. When I stepped through the portal, I would leave everything I ever knew, forever. Whatever lay beyond, I would be completely in the dark. If I wished, I was to look around, to say one last goodbye to the life I had led up to now. I knew that he understood it was horrible. He understood I had been lied to, abused, and had done terrible things myself. But it was still the only life I had ever known until now, and that he would not rob me of a goodbye if I wished.

I took one last look at the sacrificial chamber, now full of nothing but bleeding corpses. A day ago, I was going to leave anyway, but now I was going for sure. I also knew that whatever life lay beyond the portal, it had to be better than this. I felt that the demon killer would not abandon me. "Let's go," I say simply, not wanting to look too deeply.

I did take one last glance at the pentagram, the place from where my savior had come, and noticed something new. Across the intricate lines and details of the pentagram, there was a new symbol. It bore a resemblance to a cross in bright red, however with a third line beneath the crosspiece, angled up to the right. Even in the gloom creeping in, it seemed to glow of its own accord, even though it seemed to be painted in blood. However, what was more interesting was what I felt. Before, the pentagram was a weak spot, a gateway to the realm of demons. Now, the very air felt heavy, too heavy for a demon to pass through. I could tell not what magic it was, or even if it was magic.

"Was that you?" I ask the demon killer, and his answer was just to crouch down to my level, tapping his helmet. It was there I saw the same symbol adorning his helmet, and I understood. This mark was not a random glyph in a language unknown to me. This was HIS mark. Once again, through means unknown, I understood that this was the symbol many flocked to. Armies had championed this symbol on banners. The faithful bore it around their necks. Demons recoiled from it in fear. Which made me wonder if that's what was happening here. The demons could sense his mark, right across where they would normally come in. They knew never to cross again. Even their realm itself feared his mark.

"OK...I'm ready," I say, partially to the demon killer, but mostly to myself, as I stepped through the portal. The experience was intense, to say the least. I might have vomited had I anything to vomit. As it was, I only felt a knot in my stomach, that eventually faded. Once I got over the pain however, I took a look around. The first thing I noticed was how it looked like I was in another castle, one of equal parts metal and stone, with torches bearing blue fire providing light. In front of me was a circular area that made me think of a command center, with what I first thought to be small paintings, except they emitted their own light. And they were paintings of words and symbols, not true art. Beyond was a giant window, and outside, a large blue orb, and beyond that, stars. I realized where we had to be, after a bit. Somehow, this place was high above the clouds, beyond the sky, suspended in the ether. Some said that the gods lived here, above the clouds in the ether surrounding the world. Yet what was strange was how I recognized not the landscape. No map I had ever seen of the world conformed to what I saw before me.

Behind me, I heard the demon killer step through, the portal closing behind him. I took a moment to glance backwards, seeing a chamber beyond with rotating gears, and even more beyond that as the demon killer went to one of the strange paintings, tapping it. It responded to his touch, obeying his every swipe and touch. As I watched, I realized that I could not feel much magic in this place. I thought I felt something, yet I could not be sure. However, I felt that being unsure of things was going to become a new normal for me.

"Alright, now let me get you settled...crap. Fortress isn't exactly prepared for guests. Never mind then, for now. Let me spool up the restructuring drive," the demon killer spoke as he tapped the painting in front of him. Before, I wasn't sure if he could speak, or maybe he did not need to. Yet now he did, with a voice as if he had chewed gravel, which given his strength and apparent invulnerability, I felt he absolutely could. I could feel that his was a voice that when used, caused obedience. His was the voice of one who commanded more people than I had ever known, a voice that was unworthy of the mightiest kings of Men. As he tapped away, I felt a rumble in the ground beneath me. "Don't worry, that's just the drive doing its thing. Advantage of space is nothing can affect us up here. Weather, earthquakes, none of that can affect us up here. Not that space is without its own hazards. After all, we can't go outside. No air out there," He explains as if such things were casual. Yet to me, it was all new, and much I barely understood.

Soon, the rumbling stopped, and the demon killer checked the strange painting. "There we go. A bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, living room...all the amenities of home," He says as he looks down a list. "Hey, it even put some shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom, as well as every other bathroom necessity. Oh wait," he adds, as he takes another glance at me. "You may not have ever used shampoo in your world. Sure, you used something. But not shampoo as I know it. And I'll admit, I've never used conditioner. I mean, I'm a man. Not only that, I don't have the hair for it. I mean," he pauses, and he reaches up to his helmet, pulling it off and setting it on the shelf, or whatever it was nearby. "Do I LOOK like I need, or use, conditioner?"

"No sir," I answer, my response almost automatic, as my mind was elsewhere. The demon killer's face bore subtle signs of age, yet impressive strength. His features may as well have been carved from the hardest stone, a face that, like his voice, could've belonged to the greatest kings of Men. His hair, as he had been talking about was short, just enough to fit within the helmet that had covered his head, unlike the flowing locks that belonged to many in power, be they Elf, Dwarf, or Man. However, the one feature that stood out the most, were his eyes. His eyes were those of a predator. No, his eyes were those of THE predator, the one at the top of the food chain I didn't even know extended that far. His dark green eyes bore a focus that pierced all, from which nothing could hide. Invisibility meant nothing to him. I felt naked before him, as he saw all of me. Not just nudity of the flesh either, no, my very soul was naked before him. I did not feel like I could lie to him without his knowledge. A mixture of emotions rose within me, as I did not want to keep looking into his eyes, yet I also could not look away.

"Sir? Well after all you've been through today, I don't blame you," He says, snapping me out of my stupor. "Now let me show you around, Miss…?" He trailed off, and I took a minute to realize the question he was asking.

"Oh! Lindalia," I answer, as I follow him.

"Pretty name Lindalia," he complements, and I could not help but feel my ear tips turning a shade of pink at it. "As for me? Well, I've been called many names. The Unchained Predator. The Hell Walker. Though mostly? Well, as that one demon said it," He cleared his throat, speaking the next three words in a much lower voice. "The Doom Slayer."

Doom Slayer. I felt those two words in my soul. I knew it was a name spoken by his enemies only in hushed whispers. I knew it was the name demons used to refer to a nightmare that not all thought was real. Those who called him ally spoke it as the ultimate form of protection, some even praying to him in times of hardship. It also reaffirmed my earlier belief about his status as an anti-hero. After all, the word doom was mostly used to refer to villains.

"So, Fortress of Doom is a bit different than what you're used to, huh?" He asked me, snapping me out of my thoughts. Though I did spare one thought to put another entry on the list of things that made him an anti-hero, as the name was that of a villain's lair.

"Very," I answer simply as I looked around. There were statues, stained glass, even tapestries, all of figures unknown to me, or bearing the runes of an unknown language. Down some stairs were various empty rooms of unknown purpose, until he stopped at one.

"Here's your bedroom," he says, the strange door opening suddenly to reveal a room that was rather plain, yet the bed looked comfortable. "Not much now, but I'm letting you get used to things. And as you can see," He points out another door within that opened to his command, "here's your bathroom." He checked a few bottles on a shelf in a small enclosed area, before he turns to me. "Wait, you've never used a shower before, have you?" I shake my head, and he continues. "Well it's easy. Turn the knob…" he steps out and demonstrates, water flowing out of a metal piece at the top. "Adjust it for how you like the temperature. Luckily, it's not like I'm paying a power company up here. Advantages of my own reactor," he continues, and I sensed he was making an attempt at a joke. "And everything's here. Towels too. I think it made fresh clothes too, though the fashion may not be what you're used to. Sink has all the amenities as well. Oh, I forgot to mention, it works in the same way as the shower." I took a look around, and somehow in his presence, I understood what the rest was for without being told. "Anyway, shower, put on fresh clothes, all of that. Since it's been a long day, I'm ordering a pizza. I think just a simple pepper...wait. Are you a vegetarian?" He asks.

"I've consumed the flesh of animals," I admit, though I didn't want to admit WHICH animals I had consumed.

Almost unsurprisingly, the Slayer seemed to understand there was more to my answer. "You might like pepperoni. Luckily the place I like doesn't have it too greasy. We can try other toppings later, but pepperoni for now," he answers. "If you need anything, just yell," he says as he turns to leave.

I was unsure what pizza was, yet by context I could tell it was food. I could also tell pepperoni was some kind of meat, though I knew not from which animal it came from. I continued to think, even as I removed my clothes and stepped into the shower, as the Slayer had called it, turning the knob on.

At first the water was cold, yet as I adjusted the knob, it got warmer. At one point I had made it too hot, and had to turn it back down. Once I found the right spot, I stood still for a minute, enjoying the warmth of the water. Before, bathing like this happened in a cold waterfall, yet now a shower felt like the most amazing thing. I took a minute to feel the water flowing down my body, caressing my curves with a gentle warmth. Yet I didn't want to take too much time, and grabbed one of the bottles. I couldn't determine what it was made from, and it took a while to figure out how it opened, but when I did, I was able to squeeze out something thick with a pleasant smell of the exotic plant known as vanilla into my hands. Well, vanilla was exotic to me, though I could believe it was not the case wherever I was now. The bottle did warn about poisoning, so I knew not to taste it. Yet when massaged into my hair, I had to admit it felt nice. After everything was done with regards to my hair, my body came next, with a bar of soap smelling like strawberries on a small shelf, and a washcloth hanging nearby. Once lathered up, the cloth felt amazing on my hairless skin, washing away dirt in places I had always had trouble reaching. I did pause a bit when I washed old wounds, now gone because of the potion, though the memory was still there.

Once I was done, I was almost hesitant to leave the shower, yet I knew I had to, turning the knob off and stepping out onto the mat that absorbed the excess water, wrapping a towel around my body. In the looking-glass, I examined my body wrapped in the towel, picking up the device I somehow knew as a hair dryer and turning it on. Hot air blew from it, and when I pointed it at my hair, it dried far more quickly than if I had let it air dry, another nice change from everything I knew. I also applied the body odor control I somehow knew as deodorant, and then picked up the strange bristled stick I knew to be a toothbrush, along with the tube I knew to be toothpaste. Brushing my teeth was an odd sensation at first, yet I loved how it made my teeth feel. The toothpaste was a nice minty flavor as well, though I knew not to swallow it. Once done, I took the towel off and hung it up, examining my body in the full length mirror. I felt good, better than I had in a long, long time. Here, I was no demonic cultist. Here, I was an Elven lass over two hundred years old, yet I felt like I could pass for a princess. I had never felt this clean before, even at my cleanest.

Stepping into my new bedroom, I looked in the closet and the chest of drawers for clothes. At first I wanted to wear something I had packed, yet I wanted to see what was here. It was then that I recalled that the Slayer had said something about a "restructuring drive" which made me wonder if the rumbling I had felt earlier was these rooms being shaped into existence. What marvels drove this place? I had heard that only the most powerful of wizards could manipulate interiors in such a way, yet I detected none here.

The clothes meanwhile were a bit strange. The undergarments were easy enough to figure out, though I had to admit they did not cover as much as what I was used to. There were no corsets, only something with twin cups and straps. It took me a few tries, but I was able to get it on, fastening the fastener behind me. It supported my breasts nicely, and far more freely than any corset ever had. I was positive that if this was introduced into my world, it would spread among the women like wildfire. Next I chose a pair of pants of a soft material, one that was flexible and comfortable to the touch, though I wasn't sure I would wear it in public, though I realized I never had been in "public" as I understood it. The shirt I chose was loose, but comfortable, leaving my slender arms exposed. Last I slipped my feet into a pair of slippers of a different style any I had ever seen. I knew they would be especially handy, as many of the floors around here were wooden, and cold to the touch.

I walked out of my room, smelling something that made my stomach rumble. I followed my nose to a room with a large couch, with a small table in front where there was an open flat square box, with a circle of bread inside, topped with what looked like melted cheese and little red circles, the whole thing having multiple diameter cuts that intersected at the center. There were two clear cups full of a dark brown liquid that emitted bubbles on the table as well, and the Slayer himself sat on the couch, only now instead of the green armor he wore he was dressed in pants and a shirt that looked far more casual, turning to look at me even as he pulled a slice from what I assumed was the pizza and put it on a plate that seemed to be made of paper.

"How was the shower?" He asked as I sat down next to him, almost sinking into the soft couch, noticing what was in front of us. It resembled the strange paintings I had seen from before, only the image was different, and it was larger. I took the offered plate as he prepared one for himself.

"It was...nice," I admitted. "Is it Dwarven?" I ask.

"Oh no, it's all human. Yeah, I should get one thing out of the way right now. Everything you see here? From your perspective, is from the future," the Slayer explains. "Once, my Earth was at a similar level to your world. They've advanced way past that. Even this Earth, while not as advanced as the one I originally came from, still has higher technology than anything you could imagine. Though this TV is from an Earth I've saved in the past. I forget how many K's it is, but it's got plenty. Was it 16? 32?" He asks himself. "Doesn't matter. It could be a CRT from the 60's and it'd still be better than anything you're used to. Bon appetit," he says, as he eats his slice of pizza, waving his hand which made the TV as he called it respond.

I also took a bite, and it was amazing. Though it wasn't completely visible, I could tell there was a tomato product between the bread and cheese, and combined with the red circles I assumed were the pepperoni, the whole thing was delicious. Though I had to ask, "Hey...what's pepperoni? What animal does it come from?"

"Oh, it's a blend. I think there's some pork, some beef, and I forget what else. Mixed with the right herbs and spices and cured," he explains, drinking from his cup. "I went with Coke as that's the safe choice."

I too also tried my glass, my eyes widening as the cold liquid touched my tongue. The bubbles began to pop on my tongue as I swallowed the drink, the whole experience rather pleasant. Though I could feel the bubbles wanting to make me belch. "Oh don't worry about it. It happens," the Slayer reassures me. "Oh, here's a good movie for us to watch. Nothing too heavy. Just giant robots fighting giant monsters," he explains as the TV shifted, and we watched together. I watched as giant men of metal, each piloted by two Men, (even though in one case it was a woman,) did battle with giant city-sized monsters. All the while we ate the pizza, and drank our Coke.

When the movie was over, I was happy, full, but tired. "Need help getting to bed?" The Slayer asked me. I got up, yawning, and gave a slight nod, and he helped me to my room, tucking me into bed once I got in. "Once again, if you need me, just let me know," he says as he flicks a switch on the wall, plunging the room into darkness. I smiled, trying to drift off to sleep. Yet as I tried, the nightmares began, and I couldn't sleep. At one point, I could swear Baphomet was coming for me, and I screamed.

I heard my door open, and the Slayer stood there with a look of intense worry. "Nightmare?" He asks, and I nodded weakly. I wasn't even sure how long it had been. The Slayer himself didn't look like I woke him up though. "Would you feel better if I was next to you?" He asked.

"Yes please," I said weakly, sweat still on my forehead from the nightmare. Luckily, the bed did look big enough that even he could join me. I saw him remove his shoes and climb in next to me, getting under the covers. "I'll be right here, OK?" He says as he puts one of his massive arms around me.

At first, it was an odd sensation. Hours ago, I had seen that arm murder demon and cultist alike with ease. Now it was wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest. Never had I shared a bed with another person, yet somehow I knew the Slayer was far warmer than any Man had any right to be. It was a heat that warmed me up nicely, and I could tell the heat was not just of the physical. My soul, which had felt cold before nightmare-Baphomet, now basked in the Slayer's warmth. Around him, I did not fear. As I drifted off for the second time, I snuggled into him, my sensitive ears being lulled asleep by a strong thumping that could only be his heart. Just before I fell asleep, I felt a smile cross my face.