Author's Note
Try not to take it too seriously.
Doom of DOOM
“Over the centuries, mankind has tried many ways of combating the forces of evil... prayer, fasting, good works and so on. Up until DOOM, no one seemed to have thought about the double-barrel shotgun. Eat leaden death, demon...”
— Terry Pratchett
You’re pretty much fucked.
That’s your considered opinion.
Fucked.
Up to your knees in the dead with demons scrambling over each other to claw at your junk, the hot blast of sulphuric wind washes over your Praetor Suit as you snap your shotgun barrels shut with an upward flick of your wrist.
An imp catches your opposite wrist, drawing your attention. You pull it into the air with ease and let it taste two barrels of buckshot at point-blank-range.
You had chosen this; voluntary damnation for eternity. You bled for the sins of humanity while they were living it up on some far off planet, safe and sound. But at least she was going to be safe. You had made sure of that.
When the Gates of Hell opened up on Earth you fought your best for the remnant of humanity. You held the line and stemmed the tides of demons salivating for human flesh. The last evacuation ships managed to take off, but you hadn’t joined them, despite her begging and pleading. Even when she broke that life-changing news that made your heart flutter where the most horrific demon failed to get even a rise out of you.
You couldn’t go with them. You wanted to, but you still had work to do. Still had demons to kill. And it was watching those orbital thrusters fade off in the night sky that you backed into the Hellmouth and returned to the hot place where the nuns always said you’d end up.
The Gates of Hell could only be closed from the inside. So that’s what you did. You ripped and tore your way into the depths and closed them. Saved the world; saved the universe!
And damned yourself in the process.
But it’s not so bad after the first couple of years. After all, you’re not trapped in Hell with the demons. The demons are trapped in Hell with you!
Skilfully sliding two more shells into your super shotgun, you snap the weapon shut again and turn the next imp’s face into mincemeat, all the while scrambling backwards up a mountain of corpses. The blood and gore is slick under your boots and gauntlets, and the mad scramble is a slow go – made slower by the constant pause to reload. But it’s worth it. Every roar of old faithful turns another one or two demons into essence. Essentially they are being re-incarnated somewhere else in Hell and you know you’re just feeding an endless cycle of death and rebirth. But at least those imps are coming back with a clear message.
Don’t fuck with the Doom Slayer.
So why are you fucked? You ask yourself that for a brief moment as you nail a pair of grabby imps with one shot. You can’t possibly be fucked, your kill count is through the roof today. Then you look up the mountain of death you’re climbing and you remember.
About ten metres above you on a rock shaped like a demonic cow’s skull sits a wavering portal of energy and fire. A Gate of Hell.
You had closed them all ages ago. Everyone had learned the damn lesson of the day: Stop fucking with things you don’t understand. Then you remember the self-destructive human condition. Wherever there was profit to be made, people would always make the same damn mistakes again and again.
Someone had opened a Gate of Hell again, and now you’re fighting desperately to keep the demons from getting at it and the world that lay just beyond. If they get through it’ll be the same massacre as before. The one you damned yourself to put a stop to in the first place.
Your plan doesn’t go beyond getting up there and killing the shit out of anything that tries to get past you, but unfortunately there’s nothing else you can do. The last time all the Gates of Hell were controlled by a single demon. This time there’s no switch, lever or big-boss demon anywhere to be found. Just a horde of imps trying to crawl over you to get to wherever that Gate of Hell leads.
You kick one imp’s face in, then cave another skull under an elbow before you roll over and scramble up on all fours. You make it to the curled horn of skull-rock and pull yourself up onto the flattish base at the top.
The view is pretty kickass. You can see for miles around, the shores of Hell being built quite vertically. It’s valley after valley of blood and death with mountain peaks like jagged daggers. Looking closer you can see some rocks are actually squirming, revealing they are made out of the still living bodies of the damned.
There’s even a floating fortress of some kind made of skulls and spikes just over the uneven horizon.
Oh, and the horde of imps is getting pretty close too.
You slip the super shotgun into its holster on your right shoulder blade – easy to grab should you need it in a hurry again – then you reach down whip a chaingun out of whatever flat-space ass-pocket it has been residing in this entire time. Hell, demons, Gods and Devils; there’s no point trying to rationalise any of this while you’re getting a magical supply of ammo, armour and health from every creature that falls before your raging might.
You waste no time in spooling up the trio of quad-barrelled guns and hurl an almighty shit-storm into the imps below. The chaingun spits fire as fast as it pisses empty shell-casings and metal links from the ammo belt out the side.
Most of the imps explode into clouds of blood and bone as you rake left and right through their advancing ranks. Others are turned to lumpy paint; the cheap stuff your dad once tried to make you paint the garden fence with despite your complaints. The rest just sort of fall apart. Many of the imps keep climbing as if not noticing the sudden absence of an arm or a leg. But follow-up shots soon put those monsters out of your misery. More meat for the mountain slope.
But soon your progress begins working against you as the bodies begin piling up and forming a wall. Soon you can’t see the imps’ approach anymore and you’re just raking the dog-shit out of them with short controlled bursts as their heads pop over the ridge. While at first this seems deceptively easy soon you realise your reflexes and attention can only stretch to a certain angle.
Suddenly demons start spilling over your left flank. Switching out weapons you have your combat shotgun up next and you put a three-shell burst into the crowd. The imps in back topple over a whirlwind of gore the front line disappears into, giving you some time to polish the rest off with some accurate shots.
But as you do so the right flank fails and some imps scramble into pouncing positions on your twelve-o’clock. The shotgun is stowed with a click and you whip out your heavy assault rifle. The belt starts chugging out of the box magazine as your firing one handed into the crowd on your right. Meanwhile your left hand finds your pistol and you start putting bolts of energy into the demons at your front like a gangster.
The range is reduced to the kind of distance best reserved for fisticuffs so accuracy isn’t really on your list of priorities. You’re just spraying and spamming at this stage, trying to keep your footing as the top of the skull-rock grows slick with blood and bits of flesh exploding from imp bodies.
It’s only a matter of time before it all goes tits up.
And it does when one of the sneaky buggers leaps over its buddies and collides with you like a bowling ball. You’ve been tossed about by bigger, badder demons before, so you’re not exactly winded. But the impact is enough to take you off balance, and the two of you crash into the Gate of Hell.
A billion flashbulbs ignite in your face and suddenly time has no more meaning. You have no body but retain a consciousness somehow, somewhere. A sense of motion, but that might only be another memory.
Remembering a hand suddenly creates a hand full of clicky joints – the result of punching things too often and too hard. Remembering a foot results in the sensation of a foot, a painful sensation where the ankle is bruised. Memory of a backache condenses into a patch of flesh and blood that is your back. Memory of breath turns emptiness into a pair of lungs followed by an instinctive gasping for air.
Your eyes open and you groan with dismay at another memory. An older memory. Remembering exactly how it felt every time you stepped between their world and the next. The transition between the land of the living and Hell is a disorienting and uncomfortable affair, and you’ve experienced it too often.
Scrambling to your feet you realise you’ve still got your pistol in one hand and you waste no time in jumping on top of the imp you passed through the portal with. You have one hand wrapped around its throat, squeezing hard enough to pop bones and spines while you shove the barrel into its mouth and pull the trigger until there’s nothing but a chunky puddle of soup where the brain used to be.
The imminent threat dealt with you take a moment to breathe and tuck away your pistol, scraping up the heavy assault rifle and hefting it into position again.
The Gate of Hell is still open, pulsing and flaming like a pillar of fire in the centre of the room. But you’re not in a high-tech research facility like you had been expecting. There are no pipes and cables trailing all over the place, no control panels and flashing lights. Not even a single UAC marking to be had.
You’re surrounded by smoothly cut stone walls. It’s a cavernous chamber with a high ceiling and narrow windows fitted with simple glass panes to one side. The floor is fairly slick and there is some kind of stage at the very front of the room cordoned off with heavy red curtains.
The floor is littered with tables featuring an assortment of unusual models and contraptions. But the one that takes your immediate fancy is the flat grey pedestal glowing with white light above which the Gate of Hell stands triumphant and wavering.
Whoever had opened the portal knew their stuff. But they were clearly neither very technologically advanced or well-funded.
Which begs the question, if you’re not in a modern human facility, then where the hell are you?
A question that will have to wait for later. You snap up your weapon and stand ready as a few fireballs fly out of the Gate of Hell, followed closely by the imps who blindly threw them. Rolling aside, you open fire and start picking them off as they come through. It’s only a few at first. And soon it begins to feel like all the residents of Hell are trying to come out through this one portal.
They’re short. They’re spiny. They’re all over the fucking shop and they’re not dying as quickly as you could hope for. Ammunition streams into their bodies and blood comes spurting out. Bits and pieces of unrecognisable stuff that would look more at home in a butcher shop or a biology lab piles up.
Chunks of whatever is left falls wetly to the floor leaving a crimson mess everywhere.
It becomes a pointless exercise though as soon there’s too many for you to engage all at once. They start getting by you and begin leaping about the room. Many run up the walls and make a dash for the doors. A few hang about to get their bearings or lob a fireball at you.
One sizzling too close to your visor for comfort forces you to disengage the Gate of Hell. Turning you throw your weapon into its holster and sprint across the space. Tables flip and ruined science fair experiments are flung aside as you tear across the space and rip into the imps attempting their escape.
The monsters scatter as you put yourself between them and the exit, your shotgun making short work of a few of them. You catch one by the scruff of the neck as it scrambles away, and the thing seems to squeal like a puppy being told off as you heft it in front of you. The squeals turn quickly into spits and hisses, killing the moment of adorableness and quenching your guilt about what you had planned for the demon.
With a smirk you prime a grenade and shove the explosive into the imp’s mouth. Its teeth gnash over the slick surface of the device before you punt the creature away, the timer rapidly beeping on the grenade.
The imp lands a few yards away and slides to a halt at the base of the Gate of Hell. It explodes into a sunburst of fire and gore a moment later. The concussive blast guts the teleportation pad giving the Gate of Hell life and a moment later the gateway into the abyss collapses on itself.
The noise coming from the portal device is no longer there, replaced instead by the scuttling of claws and the thumps of bodies landing in the puddles of mess before you. Spreading their arms to their sides, the imps crouch low, hissing a challenge. You crack your knuckles and bring up your combat shotgun.
A familiar red haze mists your visor as you get stuck in. Claws rake over armour, fists cave in jaws and buckshot turns insides into outsides. You use your shotgun like a weapon in every sense of the word. The stock becomes a skull-cracking club. The front grip becomes a bone-shattering staff. The muzzle spits hellfire without pause. It’s a whirlwind of death and you’re in the eye of the storm.
At least while there’s still meat for the grinder. The imps fall like dominoes. Every one that throws itself onto you dies in a brilliant, glittering fountain of viscera.
One, the last imp, takes a hint and leaps past you.
The creature digs deep for traction and scuttles past, putting you into an awkward spin as your barrel attempts to track. Dropping to your knee you find a stable position and let the creature have it just as it’s charging a ball of fire in one claw.
It’s time for the imp to lose balance now, and it drops the projectile before staggering in place drunkenly as some buckshot tears through its torso.
Without hesitation you rush in for the kill. Slinging your shotgun, you grab the creature by its face and fling it into the doors you’ve been defending. It connects with a smack that has the doors burst open and you both carry on into the corridor beyond.
You cross and the imp is crushed under your weight against what looks like a set of flimsy metal lockers. As you step back, the creature peels loose and collapses to the ground before you lift your knee to your chest and put your boot through its skull.
The rush of noise in your ears – and you slowly realise this must have been the sound of the adrenaline coursing through your veins – fades and the rage of battle calms to the gentle brush of your calm breaths breaking on your helmet’s face-plate. What was noise and shrieking and death moments ago has turned to a heavenly sort of quietness. And it’s these moments of bliss you live for. That transition from absolute fury into complete calm; there’s something strangely satisfying to it.
Enjoying the quiet doesn’t last long though as you realise you’re gathering an audience. You hadn’t noticed them in the blur of combat, but now that the gratuitous violence had passed they’re making themselves more known.
The young people in their skinny jeans seem to crawl out of the woodwork, slinking around smashed furniture, picking between the dead demons and crawling out of the other nooks they had been hiding in.
Boys and girls in their teens gather all around. Several adults stand among them, and everyone stares at either you or the gore soaked gym you’d come from with bewilderment.
Something about the setting and these people suddenly clicks in your brain. Your palms get clammy. You sense you’re developing a sudden spot of acne. And for some reason you feel the urge to listen to angry music sung by some dude furious at his dad.
The realisation crashes down on you quite suddenly: this is a high school.
You lift your hand, though not in violence. Armoured fingers spread and you give a bewildered wave. A girl with thick framed glasses and purple hair sheepishly returns the gesture.
Having traded one Hell for another you realise you’re back to square one.
Being fucked.
So you vent; and let one of the locker doors feel the rage of your fist.
EQUESTRIA GIRLS
Hell to Pay
In the calm you got a real sense of how messed up the gym was. There had been an aging janitor trying to mop up the gory mess you left on the floor, but he didn’t get anywhere. If anything the guy ended up just spreading the blood around.
The banner hanging overhead mostly read:
Canterlot High School Science Fair
It barely hung up there anymore, covered in scorch marks and smouldering in places. Pretty much every student project was in bits and pieces, and that’s without even mentioning the tables they’d been sitting on.
The students had mostly been told to go to class while much of the faculty freaked out over the slowly dissolving mess. That was the great thing about demons. Destroy their corporeal form and they just tend to dissolve, leaving less chunks to deal with. Just the smears of blood.
You remind yourself none of this is your fault, even as you pry off the remnants of the locker door still wrapped around your wrist. Punching it in was a little harsh of you, in hindsight. But better to crater an inanimate object out of frustration than a human skull, right?
“Um… s-s-sir?” a small voice asks.
You look down and notice a skinny girl with long pink hair and a yellow dress standing uncomfortably in your shadow. She’s like a matchstick when compared to your armoured bulk. Hell, you figure she probably wouldn’t even stand up to your abs if you weren’t wearing armour.
You give a noncommittal grunt, staring at her through your visor, and she balks a little under the rumble of your voice – despite how vague the sound you made.
“Um…” she points at the locker door in your hand. “That’s… that’s my locker door,” she squeaks out, ending in a little yelp.
You consider the bent and ruined plate of metal and shrug before handing it back to her. Admittedly you’re probably a little rough because she catches the door in her chest and stumbles with a little “oof.”
Still, she manages a little smile out of politeness. “Thank you.”
She wastes no time in scurrying away and you watch her go. You’re standing outside the principal’s office like a delinquent about to get a good talking to. Pacing back and forth and no locker door to fidget with you pat the stock of the pistol on your hip taking reassurance in its presence. You have no idea why you’re nervous, but it has something to do with this Principal Celestia chick you’re about to see.
Getting in trouble was something you’d done often as a kid, and when you left school you swore you’d never stand before another angry principal again.
About five minutes ago she’d gone into her office with a student named Twilight Sparkle, that purple haired girl who had waved before your locker-disembowelling tantrum. From the snippets of conversation you caught while following them here you get a distinct impression this sort of shit happens around Canterlot High often – that is to say, portals into other worlds and general magic related crap. Clearly however, this is the first time things have escalated into bloodshed.
The faculty counted their blessings no students had been hurt. You’re just glad none of them had turned into zombies.
Another snippet of conversation led you to discern Twilight Sparkle was some kind of wonder-child too. Her experiment was a fusion of magic and science, and she had been hoping to open a window to take a glimpse at something called ‘Equestria.’ Clearly things had gone tits up and you can’t help be frustrated.
What’s wrong with kids now and days? you think. Isn’t a paper mache volcano exciting enough anymore? Gotta open up Gates of friggin’ Hell.
You wonder if they know how lucky they are that you came out of the portal rather than a cyberdemon.
Sick of pacing, you turn and sit in one of the plastic chairs outside Principal Celestia’s office. The plastic cracks and the metal legs groan, warping slightly under the weight of your Praetor Suit.
As if sensing the chair’s anguish, the office door swings open and you angle your visor upward to see Twilight Sparkle step out of the office with Principal Celestia at her shoulder. The girl must be about seventeen years old, with glasses and freakishly large eyes. She’s even got a strange purple-ish tinge to her skin, enforcing the idea this is clearly not the same version of Earth you came from back when.
As if the fact her parents had called her ‘Twilight Sparkle’ hadn’t made that obvious enough already.
You hazard a guess Celestia is about your age. Just less grizzled and with a lot more colour in her hair. She looks displeased, but then a principal whose student opened a gate to Hell and unleashed demons on the world and then looks pleased clearly has psychological issues.
Twilight Sparkle looks rightfully sheepish, clutching a thick notebook to her chest. Obviously they are the calculations and schematics of her science fair project and you sense she’s going to be up all night figuring out what went wrong.
Considering she gets to survive that long.
You’re considering having some strong words with the girl, then again Celestia seems to want to have some words with you as well. Her mouth opens to say something, but she’s cut off before she can make a sound.
A shockwave rips through the walls, cracking plaster and shifting pictures. It’s invisible at first, but has enough force to throw all three of you sideways. Then, shattering the visible light spectrum, the wave manifests itself in the form of a fiery orange aurora borealis wafting like a plague through every space in Canterlot High.
Your heads-up-display cycles between clarity and static a few times before resolving on a quick diagnostic screen and you stomach the familiar feeling. A Hellwave! Which can mean only one thing…
Your pistol clears the holster in one deft tug and you turn on Celestia and Twilight Sparkle with the weapon levelled. Finger on the trigger, you aim for headshots, but you stop before firing the first shot.
Normally speaking a Hellwave is accompanied shortly after by shambling zombies with an unquenchable hunger for brains… or death. Whichever. Eating someone’s brain generally results in death anyway, so either way it works.
Fortunately however, Twilight Sparkle and Principal Celestia are not the groaning minions of Hell you fully expected them to turn into. Instead they’re standing, stabilising themselves on a wall and shaking off the disorienting effects of the Hellwave.
The Hellwave doesn’t affect one-hundred-percent of people, you know that quite well. But this is the first time you’ve seen mass immunity to the zombification. Turning you see a few classroom doors open and students and teachers stumble out clutching their heads and wondering what the hell just happened. But otherwise, the school seems to be remaining zombie-free.
You lower the gun and walk to the nearest window. Being on the second floor of the building and on an external wall, you find yourself looking out over the various outdoor facilities that make up Canterlot High’s gardens.
Out on the football field, around the mid-field line hovers a perfect orb of energy and fire, much like the Gates of Hell but much more stable. It hangs suspended above the field offering a glimpse into the skull mountains, writhing damned and sulphuric deserts on the other side. And sustaining it, positioned directly underneath and feeding the hole in space and time is a Gore Nest.
The pile of viscera and globby pieces seems to be made entirely out of bits of spiny bone and unrecognisable masses of flesh. You catch sight of a few demonic faces in the mass of viscera and realise the gore nest is comprised of demon bits.
Knelt before it is an imp. It’s missing a chunk of its mid-riff, damage likely caused by your shotgun in the earlier fray, but it’s alive enough to throw a few more pieces of its dead kin onto the pile, feeding the Gore Nest with more energy.
You missed one of the little fuckers and now the bastard has opened up the worst variety of a gateway between Hell and here possible. A Gore Nest isn’t just a single doorway to Hell. It’s like a teleportation beacon that can spawn demons anywhere around it. You have no idea what the possible range is. But going by the pillars of fire springing up in the corridor next to you the range is just enough to spawn critters in the school.
The pillars burst like shattering beer bottles and the fire resolves into the squat, spiny, bipedal shapes of imps. The demons waste no time in flailing their claws and gathering wicked balls of fire ready to be thrown.
Students and teachers scream, diving back into the classrooms for cover and clearing the hallway. You’re glad they do it with enough speed for you to quick-draw your plasma rifle and fire from the hip.
The weapon lets out an almighty howl as you walk streams of burning blue death into the imps. They fall in quick succession, some of them catching on fire, others practically evaporating into a pink mist as they’re overwhelmed.
A ball of fire catches your pauldron and you’re forced to turn into the imp that threw it. The stream of plasma chops the imp in half, then splashes over something charging up behind it.
Every heavy footfall shakes the ground beneath your boots until the mass of pink flesh and thorny spikes ploughs through the bisected imp, scattering the burning remnants to either side in a cloud of howling gore.
Your plasma fire hits the charging beast square in the over-sized face, but it either doesn’t care or relishes the pain of skin being seared away.
The hulking pinky demon is more mouth than anything else really. The beast is like a mutant cross between a bipedal bovine and a wild boar. There’s no neck, just a musclebound torso glued to a potato head. There are tusks and spikes sticking out along the spine and around the sides of the skull, and the enormous mouth that opens wide enough for the bottom jaw to scrape the ground is filled with massive teeth seemingly better suited to impaling rather than chewing.
You swipe from side to side, spraying desperately from the hip and shear off a few of the pinky’s spines. It howls, spitting gouts of blood as the plasma stream lobs off one and the opposite arm just below the elbow. But the demon charges into you all the same, knocking your plasma rifle to one side.
As the weapon slides out of reach you’re knocked onto your back with the demon’s impressive maw attempting to chew you to bits. Digging your fingers into the large teeth along the top of the mouth you wedge one knee against the inside of the lower mandible and keep it from biting down. in its frustration though it keeps pushing, shoving you along the ground and headlong through Celestia’s office door.
Twilight Sparkle and Principal Celestia, having run for cover inside, throw themselves out from behind the woman’s heavy desk and a second later you and the pinky demon plough right through it.
Pinned to a wall, you shove with all of your might, the servos in your armour whining as you stretch out the pinky’s jaws until finally, with a sickening crack and a howl from the demon, the mandible breaks off entirely.
As if wrestling a bull to the ground you twist the oversized head and pin the demon down on its side with a knee on the side of the head and both hands gripping one of the larger tusks jutting from what remained of the mouth. With an expert pull you perform some impromptu dentistry and tear the tusk free before flipping it like a dagger and driving it deep through the demon’s eye.
The pinky demon slumps as you stand over it and dead check it by unloading two barrels of super shotgun into the head.
Catching your breath you crack open the sawn-off, dumping the empty shells as you look over at Twilight Sparkle and Principal Celestia. The girl is hyperventilating, babbling on about something neither you nor the principal can decipher. But Celestia, much respect to the ol’ gal, seems to be holding her composure. She stands up, brushes the dust from her dressy skirt and helps Twilight Sparkle to her feet before looking at you.
You can’t help give her a firm nod as you feed shells into your shotgun and snap the weapon shut.
“Hopefully now I can speak without being interrupted,” Celestia sighs as she walks to the door and checks the corridor outside.
It’s clear. Bloody and strewn with slowly dissolving body parts, but it’s clear of demons. A few of the classroom doors crack open and students peek out, indicating that miraculously, no one is hurt. The demons seem to be focusing on coming after you, and to be honest you don’t mind drawing their attention.
“Can you stop these things like you did before?” Celestia asks over her shoulder and you nod. “Good. I don’t know who you are or where you came from exactly, but I sense you’re here to help. And for the time being that’s all that matters. You do your thing. I have to make sure my students are safe.”
Giving the woman a thumbs up you catch your super shotgun by the barrel and present the handle to her. Celestia seems to hesitate at first, but then gingerly takes the weapon as if it’s made of something revolting.
“Thanks… I guess,” she mutters, weighing the weapon that makes her look like a child holding an oversized nerf-gun, before leading Twilight Sparkle away. You don’t waste anyone’s time by watching the principal at work. She’s doing her job well, gathering students and directing them away from the Gore Nest to the other side of the school.
You turn and look out the windows. Only instead of being treated to the sight of a dying imp trying to build a larger portal, two heads float into view.
The cacodemons are impossible to mistake. They are certainly among the ugliest of Hell’s demons. A round-ish bell of floating hide with what looks like deformed, diseased little arms partially formed on the underside, the cacodemons only have two eyes between them. Each of the creatures has a single green eye dead centre under a Mohawk ridge lined with spikes and bony thorns, and under the eye sits a wide mouth filled with altogether too many teeth.
One of the cacodemons opens its mouth wide to reveal a gathering ball of lightning within its simple bowels, then spits the ball out with enough force to shatter the window separating you from the creatures. Shards of glass rattles across your armour as a burst of static electricity fuzzes your HUD again and has every hair on your body standing to attention.
Time for you to get back to work again.
Digging in your heels you charge headlong at the two floating demons and leap off the windowsill at them. The thrusters on your boots ignite and push you up and forward for more distance. You clear at least five metres of free air between the creatures and the building’s second story, arcing through the air at them with parkour-like precision. It’s an act of ludicrous daring, but being pretty huge means your guts are pretty huge too.
You land neatly on the cacodemon that shot at you before it can close its mouth. Your gauntlets find purchase on a cluster of the balloon’s spines while you plant a boot firmly in its bottom jaw. The cacodemon sags and spins off-balance. The world is a whirling blur as you cock back an arm, flex your fingers into a claw, and then shove your hand right into the cacodemon’s eye.
There’s some wet digging and flexing, and after a momentyour hand comes out of the socket clutching a wad of watery flesh and a long, ragged ribbon of optical nerves.
Dropping the extracted eyeball, you kick off and leap through the air at the other cacodemon. You grab hold just as the first sprays a waterfall of blue goo that smells like rotting grass and bursts apart with the sound of an overripe squash dropped ten stories.
The second cacodemon puts up much more of a fight than the first and you struggle to hang on with just one hand as it spins and convulses through the air. Your other hand finds your pistol and you put several shots through the creature.
The creature wails as you put another three shots through it for good measure, then jump off. The drop to the ground is no more than a dozen metres, and you crouch deeply, falling to one knee on impact leaving fractures in the pavement where you land. Rising o your feet again, your pistol twirls a few revolutions around your index finger before you slot it back into the drop-leg holster on your thigh.
Punctuating your feat of badassery, the riddled cacodemon smacks into the ground behind you and explodes into a cloud of gore.
Ahead, the imp that had been building the Gore Nest lay in a collapsed heap. But the portal above glows brighter as if the death of its builder is giving it more energy.
Shouldering your heavy assault rifle you stride in for a closer look, putting a dozen rounds through the fallen imp in passing. Better safe than sorry.
The closer you get to the Gore Nest the more frequent your HUD readout descends into static, until eventually the readout vanishes altogether. Your stomach is turning and your head spins. People just aren’t meant to be this close to a transition into Hell, especially while still being attached to their mortal coil.
Lowering your weapon you pace a circle around the Gore Nest. It’s got a creature-like configuration to it. Almost like a massive Pac Man head in mid-death, maw opened wide towards the portal orb above it. There’s even an eye, pulsing and beating like a heart on one side.
Experience, and just a little common sense dictates what you do. Plunging a hand into the heart you rip it out of the Gore Nest, which ironically enough explodes into cloud of gore, misting you with blood and gibs.
There’s another burst, quite like the Hellwave as the portal collapses on itself and slowly the static fades. Your HUD springs to life again and you lift your rifle into a combat ready stance, sweeping up and down the football pitch for contacts.
As mentioned before, you had experience with Gore Nests. And every time you end one the area heats up with demons porting in on the residual energy left over in a desperate attempt to get into the world of the living and replace the beacon. Any second now the place is going to be crawling with demons of every shape and size.
… you lower your rifle a little and frown when nothing happens.
The relief is short lived though when a mighty thud vibrates out of the Earth, through the soles of your boots and into your bones. There’s the heavy sigh of a mighty chest cavity, followed by a loud huff. A mist of water particles washes over the back of your head and dapples the grass in front of you.
“Doom Slayer,” a heavy voice rumbles, calling you out.
Lowering your rifle to your side you very slowly turn on the spot, then angle your visor upwards to look into the demon’s wicked grin. The beast’s right claw ignites into a ball of plasma fire and it throws down its fist to crush you.
You dodge to one side just in time, but the ground-smash resolves into a shockwave that picks you up mid-roll and flings you like a toy from the hand of a toddler across the field. You hit the deck, bounce, then hit again and slide to a halt on your ass. Picking yourself up with a grunt you shoulder your assault rifle and take aim.
The Baron of Hell is surprisingly fast considering its bulk. The massive naked demon is what you originally thought the Devil would have looked like. But now, after everything you’ve seen and experienced you have no idea what to expect anymore.
The baron’s horns curve down slightly and jut forward like massive tusks. Each large hand is home to killing claws and it walks on cloven feet, the quadruped joints in the legs giving it a swift sprint to its step.
The baron leaps forward, another ball of plasma ready to eviscerate you.
You leap forward at the same time, but not on a trajectory to collide. You dive down under the baron’s feet and fire your thrust boots. The boost fires you head first into the ground, sending you sliding under the leaping baron which craters the pitch just behind you.
Another shockwave picks you up and flips you head over heels through the air. Only this time you’re ready.
In a matter of speaking.
Time screeches to a crawl as you flip and hang upside down in the air, facing the baron’s back. Your rife is level and shouldered and you unload everything you have. The barrel heats, the muzzle shroud begins to glow and smoke and tracers smack into the baron’s bare back. Small splashes of blood erupt from the demon’s hide as the under-slung attachment on the heavy assault rifle pops open.
The two rocket racks positioned on either side of the barrel slide open before a dozen small thumb-sized rockets take off, drunkenly weaving towards the baron.
Time rushes back into its normal, painful pace before the rockets explode and you hit the deck, tumbling about and accidentally firing off a few bursts of fire into the deck. An explosion rattles your teeth as you slide to a halt on your front, and picking yourself up you wipe the grass and muck from your visor.
All of the rockets met their mark, but the damage is minimal. A few bloody craters riddle the baron’s back, but it turns to snarl at you like nothing happened.
You sigh as the baron closes the distance between you in an instant and catches you with a flaming uppercut.
The world is a mess of red haze. But when the pain clouding your vision passes you still can’t quite figure out where you are or where you’re going. All you have is that familiar falling sensation as you fly on whatever trajectory the baron has sent you.
Finally, you make a hard landing – hitting the tin roof of a supply shed that collapses under your weight and you disappear inside with a crash.
In the meantime several of the doors fly open and students and teachers move gingerly outside, only to realise they’ve exited the school in the wrong direction. Among them is Princess Celestia, and in a bout of panic she tries to bring up the super shotgun you gave her and aim at the baron.
The Baron of Hell merely lets out a mighty laugh at the sight of the mortals before it. Both its claws light up with balls of plasma as it prepares to get to work. Only before it can…
You kick open the tool shed door, blowing it clean off its hinges and step outside. Letting out a deafening whistle you catch the baron’s attention, then draw its eyes to the device you’re carrying.
Shifting your grip on your new weapon, you give the rip-chord a tug and the chainsaw revs to life. You’re going to fell this uppity motherfucker like a tree; one limb at a time.
The Baron of Hell charges at you with fury, and you meet him halfway. A fist swishes overhead, but you’ve already rolled out of the way and land on your feet behind the baron. It’s all over, the fucker just doesn’t know it yet.
The chain whirs as the two-stroke engine roars and you bring the weapon around like it’s a two handed sword. The gnashing teeth make wet contact with the flesh on the baron’s thigh and the chainsaw hungrily eats down to the bone. The chain catches, the barbed catches at the base of the blade dig in and you lever the blade deeper into bone.
The baron screams and topples backwards as gouts of blood shoot from the stump that used to be a leg. It lands hard on its back and raises a fist to launch a ball of plasma. You don’t let it, getting stuck in with the chainsaw again and lopping the limb off just under the wrist. Flesh and bone yield with ease as you cut through the beast like a hot knife through butter.
One more upward stroke from the side across the belly and you give the large demon a heavy kick, spilling all sorts of slippery bits and pieces across the bloodied grass. You wonder if it’s even possible to wash the field.
Gargling and groaning, the baron attempts to set up, but you put a foot on its throat and shove it back down to the ground, holding the blade of your chainsaw menacingly to its face.
Regardless, the baron manages a wet chuckle.
“This won’t end so quickly, Doom Slayer. The Beast has tasted the magic in this place. And He will not rest until the shores of Hell have consumed this world and the power it hides.” The demon turns its head to the gathering crowd and lets out a rumble of evil laughter. “Let the sluts make peace with their God. Soon, hellfire will consume them all!”
You’ve heard enough, and so has everyone else. You spool up the weapon again and introduce mister chainsaw to mister face.
The blade stabs right into the demon’s face as the teeth spin. A fountain of viscera erupts into the air as you dig around a bit, turning skull and brains and pretty much everything else that made up the demon’s head into the consistency of paint.
The Praetor Suit makes the menial tasks so easy you’re shocked you haven’t used it to perform chores before.
Case example, the locker door you eviscerated earlier turns out to be an easy fix. Your armoured gloves and strength enhancing servos made it a pinch to bend back into shape. A few strips of duct tape and some fresh screws through the hinges into the locker frame…
Viola! Instant locker door replacement.
You stand back with your fists resting on your hips and admire your handiwork with a nod. Looking down you see the owner of the locker is equally pleased. ‘Fluttershy’ as she introduced herself when asking if you could help fix the locker door, smiles.
“Thanks, Mister Doom Slayer.”
You give an amused grunt and gently pat the girl on the head. Everyone has started calling you ‘Doom Slayer’ since that Baron of Hell called you out by the title the demons have given you. It’s kind of funny really, the way they think that’s your actual name. At least they’re not trying to pry into your life and force answers out of you.
As Fluttershy skips off back to class you resume your previous task. Taking up the mop the janitor graciously handed you after seeing the bloody mess and subsequently quitting (in quite a lot more words than that, and certainly more profanities screamed), you get back to cleaning the blood smeared corridors of Canterlot High. You’re surrounded by a lot of buckets of water, as many as you could find in the stores. Some of them have clean water, others are black with the blood you’ve cleaned up so far. There’s a trick to cleaning up blood and guts without making more of a mess, and it’s a trick you’re proud to say you’ve mastered.
You didn’t realise until you started mopping how much you miss the old days of chores around the barracks, shooting the shit with your fellow corps buddies and avoiding staff sergeant’s judgement the morning after a massive drinking session. These simple activities make you feel like a normal marine again.
With it come the memories of dodging between civilians and facing unclear threats in a sweltering backwards country of savages. Compared to battling the foes of Hell, a good old Earth insurgency, the kind of thing you were originally trained for, seems like a cake-walk.
Though having said that, a conflict where the boundaries of good and evil, friend and enemy, kill or be killed are all very clear cut and boldly labelled is nice too. It adds a certain moral simplicity to things.
Heck, what does ‘normal’ mean anyway?
You ease into the routine again, sweeping, dipping, wringing then repeating the process. But it doesn’t take long for something else to interrupt you. Looking up to the sound of approaching footsteps you spot Principal Celestia.
She looks a little bedraggled and tired. Her eyes have lost some of their vibrant colour, she’s missing the dressy yellow jacket she had been wearing earlier and her multi-coloured hair is frizzy in places. She still manages a brave grin as she watches you lean on your mop like it’s a cane, eagerly waiting for her to speak.
“None of the students were hurt in the attack. And we’re not noticing anything else out of the ordinary,” Celestia explains while you nod with satisfaction. “It looks like you got all the monsters for now. Thank you.”
She pauses, as if hesitant; then slowly adds, “The creature that spoke. It said more would come. This horror isn’t over yet, is it?”
You want to tell her otherwise, but lying isn’t going to help. Brutal honesty is what will get these people through this. In fact, any form of brutality generally helps in your opinion. So you shake your head.
Understanding, Celestia sighs, then notices something. She’s still carrying your shotgun, and hefting it she turns the weapon over and hands it back.
“But we’re not entirely defenceless. We have you,” she adds on a brighter note and some of the colour returns to her eyes. “Will you stay? Defend us if or when the monsters return?”
It’s a dumb question really, but you don’t tell her so. You take the weapon and nod firmly.
Thanks aren’t necessary, but she thanks you anyway. “I’ll prepare a dorm on campus for you. And in the meantime, since you’re doing such a good job, and the school will need some good maintenance if these attacks do keep up, you can help out in a janitorial capacity.”
You’re enjoying the simplicity of mopping floors and fixing bullet holes so far. It’ll be nice to do something constructive for a change, rather than deconstructing demons every minute of every day.
Holstering your shotgun, you reach out and open your hand. It takes Celestia a moment, but realising the gesture she smiles and shakes your hand.
You’re not really fucked as bad as you originally thought.
The Beast let out a roar of such fury that it could be heard in every corner of Hell, and even purged one of the older, forgotten plains with a wave of hellfire.
“I’m gonna fuck that Doom Slayer so fucking hard!” the demon yelled jumping from his throne and tearing the chair of bloodied skulls from its altar.
He flung the throne across the palace of flesh and it shattered on impact with the wall. The pure will of his rage caused several mushroom clouds to plume up on Hell’s jagged horizon. Imps and other lesser demons scuttled out from under his feet as the Beast kicked and stomped. It caught one zombie in the ass and punted the creature away.
The hellknight, the bearer of bad news for its master, didn’t flinch, even as the mighty Beast brought a mountainous fist to the ground beside its head. The hellknight was kneeling so deeply its chin practically scraped the floor and had either not moved out of fear or discipline.
“Gather the summoners!” the Beast bellowed, bring his face down to the hellknight’s level. “Have them pool together every scrap of argent energy! We will assault this new world immediately! We will not rest until their magic is ours!”
The hellknight didn’t get a chance to acknowledge, or even budge when a lighter, feminine voice wafted out of the shadows.
“That won’t work,” the sound teased.
The click of her metal heels on the stone floor followed the sultry notes of her voice as a demon dwarfed by even the hellknight minion swished into the murky red light. She was human, at least seemed so on first glance. She was perfect; altogether too perfect, and her eyes like her almost too perfect body held the promise of desires both gross and subtle.
The Beast growled as the demoness swished past him and seated herself daintily on the bottom few steps that led up to his throne… or where the throne used to be.
“You have attempted to defeat his brute strength with brute strength of your own for too long,” the demoness said, absently filing down her talons on the rough breastplate of her armour. “The Doom Slayer has walked through Hell defeating everything you’ve thrown at him for half a decade. You’re making all the same mistakes again.”
“Watch your tone,” the Beast warned and the demoness looked at him innocently. It was a look that would turn a eunuch into a raging deviant.
“I am merely suggesting we combat his brute strength with cunning for a change.”
Huffing, the Beast stroked his goatee thoughtfully and dismissed the other minions in the room with a lazy wave. “Speak.”
“Don’t send an army. Just send me. I will find out how they opened the Gate of Hell that originally drew us to that place and replicate the technology. I will study their magic and master it. And when the time is right I will open a Hellmouth wider than any Gate of Hell we have ever produced. Their world would fall in seconds.”
The Beast nodded slowly. It wasn’t an uncommon tactic for his minions to adopt. Eons ago it had been a popular tactic for assimilating worlds into Hell, a successful one at that. That was before the Beast had come to relish ultra-violence so much and began opting for a more straightforward approach when it came to attacking the living.
“And the Doom Slayer?” he asked.
The demoness gave a type of giggle reserved for young women sharing a naughty secret over coffee rather than a demoness planning world domination. But as she made the sound that didn’t suit her she changed. Her claws shrank away into a set of perfectly manicured nails. Armour turned to modest cloth. Her skin took on a less violent shade of red and turned pale before her tail shrank away. The shape of her eyes barely changed, but somehow turned arguably more seductive.
Sitting in the demoness’ place, with her long slender legs crossed was a human woman who would be a model in any capacity; with light skin, long wavy hair and dressed in a dressy skirt with a tidy jacket over her blouse.
She smiled with a wicked set of pointed teeth.
“Just leave the Doom Slayer to me.”
“Okay, so this has to be it!”
You roll your eyes and resume plastering the dent in the wall you left when curb stomping a demon’s face only moments ago. The nutty professor in the room had said ‘this has to be it’ eight times already. And every time she ended up teleporting a demon from Hell into the room.
There are eight bloody smears pending some attention from your mop around the science classroom. One of the desks is shattered down the middle.
“I’ve pre-buffered the quantum charge into the capacitors,” Twilight Sparkle explains, as if that means anything to you. “The oscillating converter has been calibrated to take into account the quantum shifts of matter through the trans-dimensional slipways, so now we should get a stable window into Equestria.”
She prattles on a bit, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. She’s talking fast and if you didn’t know better you’d have thought her excitable tone meant she was actually on to something.
You do know better and you make sure your combat shotgun is ready to rock, just in case.
For the past three hours Twilight Sparkle had been working on the trans-dimensional viewport she’d made for the science fair. The very same that had opened a Gate of Hell that pulled you here along with the forces of Hell. Now, under your supervision, Twilight was still trying to get the damn thing working.
With little success, considering it pulled a demon into the land of the living every time she turned it on.
She had disassembled the viewport and re-assembled it three times already. There had been additions, subtractions and modifications of the hardware. There were bits and pieces all over the place, tools scattered over every table, bits of wires, exposed copper and tubes of insulation littering the floor.
Twilight Sparkle herself looked like a mad scientist. Her hair was out of place, sticking up in places, her spectacles were dusty and there were smears of dust and grime all over her white coat. The viewport itself looked just as bedraggled.
No longer was it a sleek disk of pressed metal moulded into a futuristic looking design. It was half opened in places, bits of the external plating drilled through and torn open to make space for modifications. Some of the chips and interior were exposed in places and scratches clouded the exterior plating in other places.
She and her project are a mess, but somehow she still holds a confident swagger.
“That won’t be necessary,” the teenager tells you pointing at the shotgun. “I’ve got it all figured out this time.”
This comment elicits a nervous laugh from the little four legged purple and green critter sitting on the table beside her. Twilight Sparkle’s dog, Spike, picked up a discarded metal bowl between his front paws and set it on his head like a combat helmet before huddling for cover.
“That’s what you said the other eight times, Twilight,” the little dog says in plain English.
You figure you should have been freaked out by the talking dog when you first met him. Honestly, your life is filled with so much freaky-deaky shit you really don’t have any fucks left to give. Case and example, you’re a janitor cleaning up after the mess you turn demons into.
Hang the sense of it.
“Oh, have some faith, Spike!”
You snap your armoured fingers and direct Twilight Sparkle to hit the fucking button. She does and the lab is lit up with the usual laser show.
Green beams of light spread out across the room, spiralling about each other in a laser ballet. Then they close in on themselves like a wilting flower of green light. The moment all the beams meat in the centre though there’s a small explosion, like a miniaturised big bang giving life to a pocket universe before you. The orb of green light opens and expands and for a moment you see a little circular portal into a world beyond.
You see green trees and rolling hills of grass. There are blue skies and fluffy clouds, and the happy colourful denizens on the other side, blissfully unaware of the humans watching them, go on with their happy little huggable lives.
Shit goes wrong literally five seconds later.
In a whirlwind of fire and the screams of the damned, the window into the happy land is replaced with visions of suffering and death before the viewport collapses in on itself. Immediately after a demon materialises in the room opposite you.
“Whelp, crap!” Twilight Sparkle exclaimed with a sigh. She knew the drill.
Grabbing Spike she dragged the dog to the ground and slid under the table. You line up your shotgun and let ‘er rip a split second later.
But the hellrazer is faster. It dodges to one side and your buckshot obliterates a shelf full of glassware. As you move to track, the demon lifts its club-like arm and the various articulated tips open up and the arm ossifies into a lethal beam weapon. A laser beam of pure argent energy scythes past you as you duck to one side, racking a round into your shotgun and letting loose another fistful of buckshot.
Another shelf eats it – this one stocked with microscopes and other delicate, expensive and precision calibrated equipment. Behind you the beam of Hell energy cuts a strange, warped pattern into a window. Notebooks and stacks of paper flutter into smouldering confetti that fills the air.
The hellrazer’s eye-less face gives a hissing challenge and it fires another shot as you rack the shogun once more. This time the demon’s aim is true and the blaze glances your arm. The force of it twists you around as you go crashing to the deck. And as you do you get a clear shot on the hellrazer’s chitinous legs.
You shoulder your weapon while slaying on your side and let loose a shot before systematically racking in the next shell and unloading a second blast immediately after. Each shot meets its mark, turning the hellrazer’s knees into explosions of blood and bone splinters, sending it toppling to the ground.
You’re up in an instant, vaulting over desks with the thrusters in your rocket boots flaring to give you momentum. You go flying over the surface of the desk the hellrazer uses for cover as it tries to stand on its ruined legs. Colliding with the demon you flatten it to the deck again.
You could pick it up and use your fist to pulp its face but… effort. So you let the demon taste righteous boot-heel, emancipating it from this fragile mortal coil.
Checking your pauldron, you flex your shoulder and run your fingers over the ding left in the armour. Hellrazer number nine of today has proven to be a stubborn one. The others died with barely a fuss. You look at the window the bastard sliced into molten sections and sigh.
Plastering you can do, but you have no idea how to fix a window. Mind you, that’s why the internet was invented.
Twilight Sparkle gets up and blows some dust from her glasses. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That didn’t go entirely to plan, but I have a feeling I know where I went wrong.”
You chortle, figuring otherwise.
At the same time the classroom door opens and Twilight’s friend Sunset Shimmer walks in. she has her customary leather jacket hanging over one arm and her school bag is shouldered. She looks around wearily at first, then spotting the dead evaporating demon and discerning you, Twilight Sparkle and Spike are still very much whole, she smiles.
“We’re hearing more gunfire than cries of ‘eureka!’ out there. Is everything okay?” she asks.
You shake your head slowly, then look to Twilight Sparkle who is rubbing her neck.
“Hrm. Not really. Every time we open up the viewport another demon teleports in,” she explains.
Sunset still smiles though. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Twilight. You always do.”
That gets the purple haired girl smiling. “That’s what Spike said.” She tips the bowl from her dog’s head and scratches him behind an ear.
Sunset Shimmer looks up at you and grins, nodding to the mess. “You look like you’ve been through it. Maybe you should call it a night.”
That sounds like a mighty fine plan. Unfortunately, you’re sharing the room with a perfectionist.
“Oh, but we’re only just getting started!” Twilight Sparkle complains and you let out a cough. “We’re close. I can feel it.”
You’re not feeling it as much as she is, and Sunset Shimmer can tell. Chuckling, she smiles. “I’ll get you guys some take out. Hey, Mister Doom Slayer. My fake-ID is still good. Will I pick you up a beer?”
You stare at her for a long moment before the girl gulps.
“Uh… did I say fake-ID?”
Sunset goes to edge her way out before you stop her and hold up five fingers.
“Five beers?” she asks.
You give her a subtle thumbs up and let her go. It’s gonna be an all-nighter, you just know it.
“They are rage; brutal, without mercy. But you. You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done!”
The symbol of deep red glows in your retinas, searing its presence on your brain. You’ve seen it before, but for the moment can’t figure out where. Not that it matters.
Pulling at your arms you feel yourself restrained. There’s the clasp of cold metal on your skin and you look down to find you are naked and vulnerable. The tablet of stone you’re lying on is splattered with blood and etched with all sorts of hellish symbols.
Your stone prison is open, but you’re not free just yet.
You focus on the right shackle and pull as hard as you can. Everything on your periphery is a tired, reddish blur as the chains flex and begin to groan. You notice some movement shambling towards you, but focus on the shackles.
Your muscles strain and eventually the shackle breaks open and you look up.
Standing over you is a shambling possessed UAC worker. The shell of a man is missing much of its uniform and all of the skin over the head. The skull is completely exposed and there’s a gaping hole bored in place of the eye sockets as if it had been face-fucked with the barrel of a gauss cannon.
You grab it by the face and the exposed teeth chatter to try and bite. It gets nowhere though as you bring the possessed down and smash its head on the stone tablet…
With a gasp you jerk your eyes open and wake from the nightmare to find you’re sitting up. You’re still wearing your Praetor Suit and you’re seated on the table you slept on last night. Clutched in your right hand is a broken plastic skull you sleepily tore off the model of the human skeleton standing nearby.
Quickly swinging your legs out to the side you find your feet and set the skull back as best you can.
The lab is still a mess. You’ve cleaned up much of the blood already and some fresh patches of plaster still drying on the walls. Most of the broken glass and debris is swept up already, leaving just the empty pizza-boxes scattered over Twilight’s workspace.
You grin. It has been a while since you’ve eaten anything other than MRE’s and nutritional paste. The pizza and beer last night went down real nice.
Pulling off your helmet to wipe some sleep from your eyes, you turn the headgear around to brush an armoured thumb over the crimson emblem painted on the brow of your helmet. It’s the same emblem from your nightmare, the sign of the Night Sentinels.
Twilight Sparkle’s moan catches your attention and Spike gives a yawn. As they wake up where they fell asleep last night, you turn your helmet over and slot it back over your head.
Walking over you help Twilight Sparkle get up as Spike stretches with a groan. “Good morning.”
“Ugh. I’m trying to find something good about it.” Twilight Sparkle squints until she replaces her glasses then works her head from side to side until a joint goes ‘pop!’
“I’m no closer to figuring out what is wrong with the viewport and why it’s opening Gates of Hell instead of a window to look into Equestria… and I have a crick in my neck.”
“It’s not so bad, Twilight,” Spike assures her and you give the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Twilight Sparkle manages a smile. If only for a moment…
A rumble suddenly catches all three of you off-guard. Your first instinct is to look at the viewport, but the teleporter is turned off. The lights are off and there’s no viewport into Hell being projected. Whatever is happening has nothing to do with Twilight Sparkle’s device.
Pinpricks of lighting begin shooting across the room. One zaps Spike on the nose and he yelps, diving for cover. The rumble turns into an earthquake that shakes the school down to its foundations. Glassware rattles and eventually shatters.
Then in a flash of light and fire a creature appears before you.
It’s big. Bigger than the hellrazers the lab has hosted so far. Big enough that its head punches through the ceiling and wide enough that every movement smashes a table or breaks a work-surface.
The cycloptic monster is fat too, most of the body made of flabby, pink, clammy looking flesh. Wires and metal plates fuse into skin around the elbows and the hands are entirely replaced by a set of long barrelled energy cannons. Armour covers most of the torso leaving mostly just the head and the obese belly exposed.
The creature filling the lab bears an uncanny resemblance to that fatass washout boot who made life hell for you and your buddies back in boot camp. Your very own tormentor has returned to you from the bowels of Hell. It’s oddly poetic.
The blobby mancubus thrashes around like a dog with its head trapped in a paper bag. The false ceiling buckles and collapses, one of the tiles cracking across the top of your helmet as you pull Twilight and her pup to safety. The cybernetic parts on the demon spark as it thrashes its limbs into furniture and walls.
It’s nothing you haven’t fought before, but there’s barely any room to fight in the lab. And if you don’t move quickly, Twilight Sparkle and Spike are going to get hurt.
You move like lightning, scooping up Twilight and Spike and pulling them clear before the mancubus crushes them. The dog under one arm and the pixie-like girl over your shoulder, you make a dash for the exit. As you’re moving, Twilight makes a grab for the viewport, but it falls out of reach and is crushed to smithereens under the mancubus’ thrashing.
“No!” Twilight Sparkle tries to wriggle out of your grip to no avail. “What about the viewport?”
“What about our lives?” Spike whimpers as you turn the corner and take off down the corridor.
Behind you the mancubus crashes through the wall, widening the doorway threefold and flattening a row of lockers on the opposite wall. One of its gun arms lifts up and it unloads a ball of energy. The shot smashes harmlessly through a window as you’ve already turned another corner and are skipping down the stairwell to the ground floor three steps at a time.
You don’t slow until you’ve reached the front door.
Canterlot High’s atrium is the marble and wood heart and soul of the school. Adorned with school spirit, there are banners and flags in support of the “Canterlot Wondercolts.” Glass display cases set into the walls display numerous trophies in sports ranging from football to hockey and even as far as paintball and lacrosse. The roof is a cavernous concave with open balconies allowing students to look down into the atrium from the upper corridors.
Pushing your way out the front door you set Twilight Sparkle and Spike down outside. You jab a finger warningly in the girl’s direction, silently ordering her to stay.
Twilight Sparkle huffs, folding her arms across her front. “I’m not a dog you can order around, y’know.”
You turn the finger on Spike, who sits and smiles innocently. “I am a dog, so you don’t have to tell me twice.”
Satisfied they’re safe for now, you turn and stride back into the school to take care of business.
And business is good.
Smashing through the iron wrought guard railing the mancubus comes crashing down from the above corridors and smacks heavily into the floor in front of you with a wet smack of greasy skin. It quickly pushes itself back to its fatty, flat feet and spots you before letting out a roar.
You mimic the roar right back at it and whip out your chaingun to unload a hellstorm of hate and discontent.
The mancubus stumbles as pockmarks of blood explode all across its flabby torso and you walk the shots up to its face. The demon shields itself though, holding one of the weapon grafted arms. Sparks erupt across the alloy and there’s an ammo-explosion, blasting the side out of the weapon making it useless. While shielding itself though, the mancubus aims the opposite cannon and unloads a shot.
You jump to one side and pulse your rocket boots, double-jumping away in the nick of time. Behind you a display case shatters and trophies melt.
Planting yourself high on the slick surface of a wall, still firing the chaingun, you jump off again and soar at the mancubus’ face. You’re going to ram the spinning barrels of the gun down its throat and rape the demon’s bowels with lead.
At least, that’s the plan.
You get in close but the mancubus lashes out, striking you aside and sending you sliding across the deck. Your weapon falls from your grip and skids out of reach before your head craters into a wooden panel.
You scramble to your feet and roll out of the way as the mancubus starts unloading more energy shots. It tries to track you as you run circles around the beast. Trophy cases explode, banners catch fire and flags wither like burning leaves in your wake.
Dropping to the floor you slide through the blown out doors leading into the cafeteria and the mancubus shoots an aggressive volley in after you. Bolts of crackling energy scorch the linoleum floor and crater the walls. Pausing, it wonders if it got you, and that’s when you take the offensive.
Running out into the atrium again you have your combat shotgun levelled and the burst fire mod switched out. Instead of firing buckshot in quick three-shell bursts you unload a high-explosive mortar shotshell. The pop-rocket explodes on impact, and spawns a shower of cluster bombs that explode all across the mancubus’ body.
Clouds of blood and bits of discarded meat slide and splatter across the atrium and a protective panel across the demon’s chest falls loose. Revealed within the cavity underneath is a heart muscle, beating in overtime and pulsing with thick, viscous yellow veins of rot and puss across the surface.
You throw your shotgun aside for the moment and sprint at the beast, colliding at top speed with enough force to knock the thing on its ass. As you’re grappled on you grab the heart and wrench it free, popping several veins and sending gouts of blood streaming from the chest cavity.
Now you have a demon heart in your hand there are a number of things you could do. You could take up satanic worship or you could unlock the secrets of immortality. Or you could do something useful.
Like tear open the mancubus’ jaw and force the heart down its throat.
On paper it’s a wicked plan. In reality it’s even more awesome. The moment you’ve fed the creature its own heart you jump off and roll backwards on impact with the ground. Settling in a low crouch you watch as the mancubus looks queasy, burps and then against all the odds and laws of common sense…
It explodes.
Fire and shrapnel are followed by bubbling fountains of blood and bits of shattered bone. Enough meat to stock an abattoir for a week goes splashing out after, painting the walls and one wet chunk nearly knocks you over.
What’s left of the mancubus isn’t pretty – or it’s glorious depending on your own philosophical difference in opinion. The demon sort of ends at the ribcage giving way to a crimson mess. The ribs are mostly blown out leaving a whiplash of bloodied spine swaying from side to side and perched atop is half a mancubus skull.
Standing, you retrieve your weapons and look around the atrium while the remains of the mancubus smoulder and begin to dissolve into the ether. That’s the only downside to being in the land of the living again. After every demon kill there’s a mess to clean up. And the bigger the demon, the bigger the mess it seemed.
You’re about to fetch Twilight Sparkle and let her know it’s safe when the front doors open and three figures step inside. Spike is plodding just ahead of Twilight, and standing by the girl’s side is a familiar adult.
Principal Celestia’s eyes are wide with shock as she takes in the scene of death and destruction. She checks the smouldering Wondercolts banners, then looks to the disembowelled trophy cases and lets her mouth fall open.
The paper cup she’d carrying in one hand slips from her grip and hits the floor, spilling coffee everywhere.
You tut judgementally and sigh deeply at the mess she’s made.
You keep the rattle of sweeping up debris as quiet as you can while Twilight Sparkle and Principal Celestia talk. They’re seated at the last intact table in the science lab, across which the shattered remains of the viewport sits.
Despite your care not to disrupt them they’re interrupted by a newcomer. Vice Principal Luna is definitely Celestia’s younger sister. They have a similar build and facial structure, and it’s clear they’re siblings despite the fact their natural hair colour being drastically different. If Celestia’s hair colour could be described as a summer palette, Luna’s was best described as a clear night sky.
She greets you with a quick glance and brushes by with a concerned expression until she spots the principal.
“Sister, the atrium is in shambles. What happened?” she asks.
Celestia, in contrast to Luna’s worried look, smiles brightly. “I woke up this morning and just hated everything.” The initial shock of seeing her school wrecked has clearly passed, and with it Luna’s concern seems to evaporate.
“Demon attack?” she asks, narrowing her eyes sarcastically.
“Demon attack.”
“And nobody is hurt?”
Celestia nods and looks at the school’s awesomest janitor. “We have Doom Slayer to thank for that once again.”
Turning, Luna gives you a grin then goes to leave so she can do whatever it is vice principals do. She holds up a fist as she passes.
You lock knuckles for a moment before withdrawing with waggling fingers to complete ‘the explosion’ style fist-bump.
“Back to your device,” Celestia continues to say as you get back to sweeping. “Perhaps it is for the best it’s destroyed. Hopefully now this will be the end of demon visits.”
Twilight Sparkle shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Principal Celestia. The viewport was disconnected and powered down when the large demon teleported in this morning. That can only mean the viewport simply acted like a beacon before. Now it seems the monsters know where we live and they’re coming to visit whenever it suits them!”
Celestia frowns, clearly not liking this development.
“Is that accurate?” she asks looking at you and you shrug and nod. “Then we should develop some sort of defence.”
“A trans-dimensional buffer or shield should do the trick. Unfortunately,” Twilight pauses to pick up one of the broken pieces of her viewport and says, “I have no idea where to begin.”
Celestia looks thoughtful, tapping her lip with a slender finger. Eventually she seems to have a thought and nods. “I still have some friends from college in the scientific community I can reach out to. We’ll some professional help for this problem.”
Her attention is drawn to a loud clearing of a throat and she spots you standing with your arms held out in a ‘what the fuck’ fashion.
If you’re not professional help, then what are you?
Chuckling, Celestia quickly apologises. “Beg your pardon, Doom Slayer. I meant additional help.”
You point at her and nod agreeably. When it comes to disembowelling demons you’re the authority. But on the subject of trans-dimensional shields ‘n shit it was best to call in the big brains.
Having never actually worn a suit before you naturally need a little help. All former formal events you have just worn your dress-blues. It was of course like dressing up a gorilla in fancy threads, and the black suit and tie Rarity was fixing up for you is no better.
One of Twilight Sparkle’s friends, Rarity, is fair handy with a needle and thread. And fair handy with tie knots as she is demonstrating while you kneel in front of her. When she finishes she brushes some lint from your lapel and lets you stand again.
The shoulders are a little tight, the jacket is restrictive and you’re pretty sure the shoes ’ll be worn out after a few miles’ off-road hike. Then again the suit’s not exactly built for combat.
You’ve left your Praetor Suit in your dorm, locked safely away with your own personal armoury. You insisted on keeping your pistol though and it sits tucked into the back of your trousers. Again, with Rarity’s help the cut of the suit hides the outline of the gun elegantly from view.
“There.” Rarity sighs proudly. “You look simply dashing out of that bulky armour.”
Principal Celestia standing by the door leading out of her office, smiles and nods in agreement. “You clean up nice.”
Glancing at your reflection in the window, you nod in agreement while fidgeting with your tie. You do look damn good.
That is until Rarity smacks your hand away to prevent you from messing up your tie again.
Celestia is similarly dressed up in a dressy skirt and a stylish gold blazer. She’s tied her multi-coloured hair into a smart ponytail and she’s carrying a resume under one arm. The reason for all this song and dance is an interview.
One of Celestia’s old friends suggested a certain professor look into your little ‘trans-dimensional problem.’ She was coming by today and Celestia insisted you attend. She also insisted you trade out your armour for a bit, for fear it would intimidate the interviewee.
Celestia’s phone rings and she answers it quickly. The conversation is just as quicks. She only nods and hangs up again.
“Our interviewee is here,” Celestia explains. “You can go, Rarity. Thanks for your generous help.”
“Always happy to help, Principal Celestia. And remember, Mister Doom Slayer. Stand upright,” Rarity says in her lady-like voice, demonstrating perfect posture. She looks like she’s about to give more pointers, but stops as you stare while maintaining your slouch. “Or not. Good luck!”
Rarity leaves and only a few seconds later there’s a knock on the office door. Celestia opens it and a woman walks in.
She’s about Celestia’s age. Tall and just as leggy. She has long wavy raven hair and deep red eyes you can’t help stare into for a moment. You quickly blink and shake off your daze, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Welcome. And thank you for coming on such short notice,” Celestia says shaking the woman’s hand.
“I don’t mind at all, Principal Celestia,” the interviewee assures as she is led to where you’re standing. “This is our groundskeeper, Mister Doom Slayer.”
The woman smiles, taking your offered hand. “Doom Slayer. That’s an interesting name.”
You’re about to tell her that it isn’t the most interesting thing about you when she suddenly pulls sharply at your arm, hard enough to make you stumble and you’re surprised by her strength. Pulling your hand close to her side, her smile widens and she makes a show of winking at you.
When she lets go and brushes past, you look at your hand a little bewildered, then catch yourself and move to where Celestia is seated. Taking a seat on the couch beside the principal, you watch the interviewee elegantly set herself on the chair opposite you before crossing her legs.
Celestia begins the interview and you do your best to pay attention. She says her name is ‘Velvet Twirl,’ and reading her impressive CV you realise she’s more than qualified to help Twilight Sparkle erect a defence against Hell. But there’s something that bothers you. You can’t quite put your finger on it.
But it has something to do with her wicked smile.
