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This is a story of the Doomslayer, The Hellwalker, The Space Marine. Please, for him, do not post here. Your feedback and comments are highly valued, as are your suggestions when I run out of ideas. All names presented are purely for entertainment. Any names used of a person in reality that is you or that you know is purely coincidental.

Flynn Taggart


When one’s eye open, they never expect their view to be a great dome of thick glass, which resists even the vacuum of space. Standing up, the Slayer felt his joints protests over so slightly. Grimacing, he stretched and felt them become more relieved, better to leap and sprint across his hellish battlefield of work. Of course, he wasn’t paid, nor did he wish to be. Simply, the true excitement of firing a weapon as large as his own, the Plasma Rifle, the Combat and Super Shotguns, his Rocket Launcher and Heavy Cannon, the Chaingun, and especially, especially the Ballista and BFG 9000. He shook himself from his thoughts, then glanced around.


VEGA piped up, “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do today.” With a heavy sigh, The Slayer started to wander around his castle, his keep, the Fortress of Doom. His eyes traveled over the toys he’d found, the mysterious floppy disks that laid scattered on his desk, the music records on the walls, and his collection of guitars and weapons. Sighing again, he grumbled, although the word was incomprehensible to all but him. Snagging his weapons from the wall, he set them next to his armors, each set better than the last. The Original, 2016, The Unicorn, The Sentinel, and lastly, The Flame Marine. Slipping his massive build into the fiery armor, he donned the helmet of the Flame Marine. VEGA sounded almost bored, as if this were routine, asking the Hellwalker, “Off to the training arena? I’ll start fabricating the ammo to replenish your supplies.” The sounds of machinery somewhere in his castle kicked up, the ammunition being drawn from the various utensils and tools that held the basic materials of the weapons fuels.



Allowing the weight of his weapons and armor to settle on his shoulders, the beast of a man called the Doomslayer started off into his domain, his mind focused on only the depths of it, only the pit he’d called The Arena, the only place he had somewhere to fire off his toys, to drain his itching intensity, his anxiety even. His Fight was Eternal, forever, and it proclaimed that in his blood. Wired to fight, to kill, to draw the blood of the demons, the Slayer stepped on to the elevator he knew would bring him down to The Arena, his blood heating as his eyes started to build the landscape in his mind, pointing out where the viscous and brutal beasts would spill from, where to fire and which gun to use, and narrowing it down even more, which modification for each gun. Stepping down from the massive round platform, he readied his weapons, the equipment launcher perched on his shoulder and following his movements, turning with his head and pinning its aim on where his eyes focused.


It all went by too fast, flashing before his eyes as missiles flew and claws tore at his flaming armor. Watching the four barrels of his Chaingun cool, he snapped it out of its mobile sentry mode. Glancing up, he watched as VEGA dropped the multicolored ammunition and armor repairs from the ceiling of The Arena. Stepping into the mass of supplies, the beastly man watched the bullets and canisters flow into his weapons, watched small red blades slip silently into his Cucible, watched green armor plates and helmets pop into his fiery covers, the luminescent green items filling claw and blast marks and lighting up with the molten intensity of his armor. He chuckled to himself, reflecting on the thought of his Eternal Conquest, despite how much he protested doing so. His fight was necessary to their survival, those never blessed by the Seraphim and never brought up by the Sentinel arena battles. His eyes flashed orange, and he stumbled backwards as the past shot into his mind. A crude voice growled in his ears, his haunted words. “Guts...... Huge... Guts...” He shook the words from his mind, then stumbled again, leaning against a large rock as his mind went into overload, turning back to the past and leaving his body behind. He saw his birth in Hell, rising from the corpses of the demons covered in his armor and wielding his giant double barreled shotgun, its meat hooks flaming beneath the massive barrels, which were ready to launch the murderous sharp pellets that killed every demon they met. His cry tore across the hellscape, ravaging the demons, morphing them from fearless, invincible, even immortal, to cowardly and weak, quivering at the sound of his voice. “Rip and Tear!” The body of another demon fell, and he laughed his guttural, maniacal chuckle, the one that had rung out from the epicenter of hell for so long. So long, that is, until he’d stumbled across something, a hole torn between realms. Pushing his way through, he felt the turbulence, the rage of Hell itself. It tore at him, pulled from him the armor that covered his body, the weapon that had slain Hell’s children for so long, and the memory of it altogether. Upon waking, he’d found himself in a strange place, shining and clean. A voice spoke in a strange language. “We found him on the outskirts of our lands, his clothes in ragged strips. He’s unconscious-” The voices had stopped when he shifted, muttering again, “Guts, huge... Guts...” The voice continued. “He was unconscious.” A second voice spoke, a near copy of the first. “Take him to see the arena. Get him trained and let him be our entertainment next week.” There was the sound of armor clanking, feet shuffling across the cold stone as the new Slayer was lifted by three pairs of arms and carried forwards. His eyes tracked the patterns on the ground of the beautiful floor stones. The armored feet around him were elegantly designed, good to reflect blows and protect from them. He closed his eyes again, the travel from Hell still sapping his energy.


Waking in a stiff pain, he tried to stand. He couldn’t. Opening his eyes, he found himself bound at the wrists, waist, and ankles. A third copy of a voice said, distantly, “He’s awake, get him up and see if he battles as well when he’s awake.” The Slayer groaned, his stiff joints anticipating freedom. His eyes opened to their fullest and took in what was around him. He nearly started laughing, looking at the shreds of white and light blue armor scattered around the invincible chair he sat in. Soldiers stepped slowly, carefully towards him, intent on getting him up and keeping their distance at the same time. Feeling the restraints release, the Beast rose to his full height and stretched, his joints crackling like fire. The Sentinels stepped back hastily, then disappeared into doorways on the sides of the small hallway he seemed to be in. Stepping towards one of the doorways, he stumbled as it closed. Trying again, the rest of them started to close, two at a time. Rushing forwards, he nearly made it into the last one, before stumbling into a massive arena, many of the armor-clad soldiers battling, but only sparring. He nearly scoffed at the training but restrained himself from laughing out loud. Glancing around the arena, his eyes landed on a series of strange shapes, observing the training. They floated above the ground and had no legs. Five of the six there had no arms, either. They floated around one, a larger being, which had arms and a crude copy of wings, though they lacked the membranes or feathers or even muscular fingers that made a wing what it was. The creatures radiated power, their auras pushing them to the top of the hierarchy of this place. But the Slayer only scoffed at them.

Terrisa Hakes


It’s not often that you make a scientific breakthrough bigger than interstellar travel. But hey, we did. James and I, that is. I see so much of our dad in him, it’s almost funny. But back to our breakthrough. When we had ships that could move us anywhere in a matter of minutes or hours, it was worldwide rejoice. But what about a simple object that could move a person literally anywhere in less than a second? I know what you're thinking. “Terry’s finally lost it,” right? Well, we did it, James and I. We managed to create a teleporter. Currently, it’s only successfully teleported a vial of glass from one side of the room to another, but hey. Teleportation is teleportation. It’s not something to be taken lightly. We could only stand there for a few moments, staring at the empty glass container. Then James broke the silence. “Which pad did that start on again?” I chuckled. “The green one, James. It’s on the blue one now.” He stayed quiet for a moment longer. Then, “We did it...” I nodded and bumped his shoulder. “Yeah. So, do you want to tell him or should I?” We both glanced at the comm set into the wall by the door. “You do it.” I grimaced, then walked over to the comm, glanced at James, and pressed the direct comm button. There was a moment of silence. Then, a loud, grumpy voice shouted through the speaker. “Whozis? Whaddyou want?” I frowned, as if he was spitting through the comm. “It’s Terrisa and James, Lawrence. We got it to work.” A silence that lasted too long by about fifteen seconds. Lawrence’s voice was somber and silent. “You’re pulling my leg.” I beckoned James over and smiled. His voice was hoarse and quiet. “N-no, it’s fully operative. We sent a small vial from one side of the room to the other, Lawrence.” Shuffling and the squeaking of a chair. “I’ll be down in a minute.” The comm went silent, and James and I glanced at each other. Then the weight of what we’d just accomplished set in. He smiled. I laughed. We traded high fives and fist bumps, promised each other ice cream or a milkshake. Then, a knock at the door. Our smiles remained, but we calmed down a bit. Lawrence entered. “Show me.” I trotted quickly over to the blue pad and grabbed the vial, then set it on the green pad and walked back over to Lawrence and James. Grabbing a few sets of goggles, I handed a pair first to my brother, then to Lawrence. “It’s a little bright.” After our goggles were on, James and I went about powering it up and priming the teleporter. Once all was ready, a large switch was flipped and a hum filled the air, about eighty hertz, making it impossible to hear yourself speak. A moment’s hesitation, and a flash that lasted a fraction of a second lit up the room. The glass vial was once again on the blue pad. Lawrence removed his goggles and gaped. James and I smiled some more. Lawrence smiled and ran his hands through his hair. “By god, you actually did it! You know what this means?” James and I shook our heads. “Not yet sir.” Our manager gave a single laugh of disbelief. “It means you two just made the biggest scientific breakthrough of the century!” He hung his goggles on a hook bolted to the wall, just as James and I had done earlier. “We’ve- You’ve got to tell this to everybody! You’ve got to hang it from buildings and fly it behind spacecraft! ‘The McDougal Twins: Inventive Geniuses and Creators of Teleportation!’” Lawrence pushed the door open and strutted out, waving his hands like a madman and spewing idea after pointless idea. James followed slowly, allowing me to turn the lab lights off and lock the door. “Hey.” James turned to look at me. “I think we promised each other ice cream.” He chuckled, then nodded. “Sure.”



-----



Exactly seven hours after the successful testing and operation of our teleporter, there were already several reporters surrounding Lawrence, asking how he did it. Thankfully, he was simply staying quiet. Besides, I was sure those weren’t real reporters. Leaning over to whisper to James, I asked, “How many of them d’you think are from Templar?” Templar was the biggest competitive company in the technology and defense industry. Us? We were the second leading company in tech. DemiGod Tech, or DGT. We got to approve a ton of products for manufacturing as well. Well, industry branches did. Boxes would often proclaim that they’re ‘DGT Approved, guaranteed to make your home better.’ James observed the reporters for a moment, took a lick of his ice cream, then said, “I’d say about two thirds of them.” He and I were sitting in the Break Room, enjoying the last of our indulgences and promises in the form of a pair of ice cream cones. Giving my brother a sideways glance, I chuckled. “Only two thirds?” He squinted a little, then said, “Three quarters.” Lawrence turned then, his voice stern. “You can tell your editors and executives and whatnot that they can get off my ass about it!” The reporters went silent. Lawrence glared for a moment. Then: “And if I figure out which one of you is from Templar, you can trust me I’ll have the cops on you in seconds.” That seemed to get the ‘reporters’ where it hurt. Notes and notepads were tucked away, well concealed cameras were tucked back, pencils were shoved in pockets. I had no doubt that the pencils were audio recorders. Lawrence apparently didn’t either. “You have fifteen seconds to be out of this building before security is blocking off entrances while police roll up. Get it? Now out!” There was a moment of silence, a moment of movement, and then the sound of bustling bodies and worried whispers. Lawrence stepped into the break room and ran his hands through his long dark hair. “Have I got any little cameras or microphones on me?” He held his arms out and spun in a slow circle. James and I looked our manager over for a moment. “Check the cuffs of your jacket, the seams and shoulders. Then probably throw out that outfit.” I stifled a snort when James said that. Lawrence had been sporting a spotted tie, a purple jacket, green pants, and socks with little avocados.

Flynn Taggart





The Slayer opened his eyes, his aching bones jolted from their sleep. His mighty hands gripped the helmet, pulled it off. “Vega,” called out a hoarse voice. “How long have I been laying here?” Vega sounded uncertain about the answer. “Only a few seconds. Are you alright?” The Beast shook himself, stood up and popped his neck. “I’m not sure...” He lifted the rest of his weapons and grabbed his helmet, accepting the remains of the materials and walking cautiously towards the elevator. The platform lifted and the Slayer closed his eyes, thinking over what he’d seen. It wasn’t natural for him to see the reflection of his eyes glowing orange. He’d seen purple plenty of times, when a blood rage inside him influenced his weapons to shoot faster and aim themselves. He’d seen yellow as the weapons stopped using their own ammunition and instead relied on the excess materials his own body released. But never had he seen orange. The elevator platform stopped, allowing the Hell Marine to step off and continue on his way. “Vega. Set a portal for Sentinel Prime.” A different set of armor was donned, a less protective set, and most of his weapons were put of their rack. Wielding his Super Shotgun only, he stepped up to the control panels and pushed on the large orb set in the exact middle. The entire middle third of the console sank into the ground, becoming a walkway, as two large semi-circles rose towards each other from opposite sides of the walkway in front of Flynn. A low hum, then a spark of lightning as the ring ignited with blue electricity. A black void, ringed by blue, now stood before him. Stepping forwards, the Slayer was enveloped by the inky touch of nothingness and disappeared. Stopping for a moment between the two gateways to reality, Flynn Taggart looked once again out into the void. Several objects flashed across the colorless sheet of the Mind, unrecognizable to the Slayer. Taking a breath, the Hellwalker stepped through the gateway opposite to him, and found himself standing at the gates of Sentinel Prime. Majestic as they always were, the gates stood ajar. The stones beneath the feet of the Unchained Predator were covered in a thin blanket of dust. The Slayer could make out a soldier just inside the gates standing guard. Scuffing his foot against the ground, the Beast started to approach. In his hands, the guard’s spear came to life, the luminescent tip glowing a dangerous light blue. After a moment, the spear was raised towards the sky once more and the soldier stood at attention. Passing him, the Slayer could make out the sound of quiet breathing. Something like a pin dropping might have been louder. In fact, the Slayer could still hear the scuff of his armored boot echoing around the infinite area he stood in. A pin dropping might do the same, with how inactive the place was. Closing his eyes, the Doom Marine allowed himself to be carried by mere thoughts towards the next wormhole. A few nameless objects flashed across the back of his eyes, but some seemed to stir a distant memory.