Alice, Commander
On the one hand, Matt had only gotten creepier than ever before. Watching, waiting, breathing quietly and staring, taking breaks only to play a banjo that he would only say came as standard equipment for gunslingers. On the one hand, he was good. On the other hand she was fairly sure that the range of notes was not strictly speaking something possible with a mundane instrument. Which honestly was the least important mystery about him. No, one of them was the fact that even with him back at base, their kill counter was still rising. Despite the fact that he was right there.
But, perhaps, the most pressing mystery was why some of the infantry units, who sneered at them for being safe up in the skies while they fought and died, actually smiled and nodded at him. Then again, he had been out in the wild on foot for months and nearly made it back on his own. So, it was entirely possible that he had fought alongside some of the infantry. Which could mean connections, networking... if he did not just not nod at them as they passed, into the auditorium where the end of the year rewards and punishments would be given out.
Yet, even as they took their positions, there was someone different this year on the central podium. They were iconic in many ways, clad in the armor of a Doom Slayer, shotgun on his hip... and radiating the same sort of casual menace and controlled violence that Matt did. And a part of her had some things click then, connections forming in her mind as she let out a strangled whimper. Joined by Betty, Veronica and Ashley as eyes turned to them and the voice called out. "Can Matt of Team Alice come down to the podium? Infantry needs to hand out some medals before we can do the usual end of year ceremonies."
He moved with a tread that made no noise and she could not feel. No tremor on the ground, no motion of the air, not a single noise as he moved, the crowd parting around him. The Doom Slayer clapped arms with their large team mate. And then there was the list of medals. Not many, merely three... but one of them was an honorary membership in the 'Doom Corps'. Because yes, there were enough Doom Slayers in the Legion of the Damned to actually have formed a patronage network.
Said network was comprised mainly of people insane enough to take multiple terms in the Legion's infantry, though she knew little about them. Because while there were stories, she had been more focused on surviving and getting out than looking up some of the other elements of the legion that she would likely never interact with. Until her teammate qualified to join them... and they were going to show the video of how he earned that... by breaking the San Fran Line. Four hundred and forty miles of demonic fortifications meant to protect the San Francisco portals and port.
On his own.
No backup. No support.
What the hell!
The San Fran Line
Creating a box around San Francisco, the San Fran line as it was known was one of the most powerful defensive positions held by the abyss in the land that had once been California. Three hundred feet tall walls of abyssal stone and nearly six hundred feet thick, riddled with tunnels, murder holes, minor portals and fortresses of petty demonic lords that fought among each other when there were no others to inflict violence against. And yet it was just the first of several layers of defense.
Hordes of demons, lurked inside of those walls and inhabited the lands beyond, forming vast milling mobs. Oh yes, many of them were mere rutterkin or carrion wretches, but vast numbers of Javocs made melee attacks problematic, while the battlements were held by vast numbers of Arrow Demons and Solamith's unleashing storms of arrows and soulfire as living artillery pieces to discourage aerial attacks... besides the abyssal drake nesting grounds close at hand in several places along the wall. All said and done, it was a formidable defensive installation that blocked the land approaches to one of the larger portal networks on the west coast.
It had repelled dozens of assaults to break it so far, the rare naval attacks consumed from below and the hosts of aquatic demons, though there had been no sign of any if the greatest aquatic threat. Though as some pondered, that could be because they had already arrived and went for deeper waters already. It was a place earmarked for heavy firepower, up to and including orbital strikes to crack open the line. None of that of course, accounted for one figure.
Now, truth be told? A good deal of that was because he was shooting the masses of arrows out of the sky as he ran up the walls, much as a Naruto Ninja might, duster blowing in the wind of his passage, the guns singing their song until he reached the battlements themselves, lotus petals of hellfire blooming around him, demons screeching in panic, stumbling back as many arrow demons used dimensional doors to flee, the hungry flames quickly searing away those that could not flee. Seventy feet of hellfire... and then he charged.
Now, while much of the chaff was evaporated in seconds (some not even having the time to scream before they were ash in the wind) the stronger ones seemed to endure for a few moments, eyes widening before the guns opened fire. Yes, Matt used what were effectively hand canons, but it was another thing to see the bullets rip and tear though demonic flesh, what should be single shot guns firing as rapidly as a gatling gun, faster perhaps as every demon in a hundred and eighty degree arc inside of sixty feet simply... ceased to be.
But he did not slow. He did not stop to do anything like repositioning himself. No, he continued to simply MOVE and as a path was cleared in front of him. Arrows directed to his back burned to ash even as he stepped out of the way, a dance of death, every few seconds directing a storm of bullets behind him that saw recovering formations shatter. In less than a thirty seconds, the kill counter had risen to five hundred. Three minutes? The longest any demon on the wall lasted before being torn apart by a storm of bullets was two seconds.
And then a Balor, a lord of the hordes appeared, towering and laughing, summoned as demons cowered and begged for their master. It lasted two and a half seconds against the storm of bullets that came for it. All while Matt never stopped running. All while he never stopped gunning, portals consumed by the rushing flames of Hell as he sought out each portal, his bullets seemingly able to shred the magic holding them together somehow.
No words, no speeches. No boasting or shouting, save for the unending thunderous roar of his guns, a sound that blended together into a single screaming refrain of righteous rage, of a wrath without end. His face cold, eyes hard and showing nothing. Ten minutes into the assault, the kill count had risen to sixty-seven thousand and included at least three Balors.
Alice, Commander
She paled, as it devolved into a 'highlights' reel that seemed to combine Doom with They Are Billions. As it showed Matt simply melting some of the wall to slag, shattering massive chunks to dust under gunfire better suited to siege canons. And all that was left in his wake was rubble, ash and blood.
Yes, with the right contract and the right picks, particularly with powers or Gnosis, a similar level of destruction could be reached, you could reach similar levels of army killing badass. But... those usually had more obvious supernatural effects. Were more obviously magical. This was just a man with a pair of magical guns and one hell of a mean streak. And yes, she left him to die and he was holding a grudge. Pulling off the same sort of thing that someone usually needed to be an awakened mage of high rank to do, or epic level spells... just by shooting.
And if he could do that to a fucking Balor? She closed her eyes, wondering why she was still alive.