Slayers

I'm going to die here.

How I'm going to die is something I'm not yet sure of. Will I die from suffocation – air leaks are present throughout the base on Phobos, and unlike the creatures that stalked its halls, I need air to live. I need the breath of Mother Nature to fill my lungs, lest I pass from this world.

Will I die of dehydration? There's no water source here – none that could keep me alive long enough for another ship to reach Mars. Whatever water is left on the base is insufficient, and is almost certainly tainted by radiation, or worse, the blood of the creatures that emerged here.

Or will I die from my wounds? The creature at the end, the twisted abomination of muscle and steel – its claws found my flesh. Claws rent through Kevlar and sinew, and the blood pouring out of my side is in testament to its ferocity. The portal is closed, and the creatures of the world beyond this moon, beyond our universe, have disappeared. It is safe for me to find a med-pack. I might bind the wound and stem the flow of blood, and in doing so, save my life. But if I do so, what will it accomplish? Perhaps the question is not what I will die from, but how soon death will take me?

Lying against the hanger wall, one hand at my wound, the other limply holding onto the BFG, I cannot help but weep. I don't want to die. No-one wants to die. The people here, for all their recklessness, didn't want to die when they were torn limb from limb. The marines I was sent with didn't want to die, as they fell to the creatures one by one, death granted fast or slow, but granted all the same. Even before my boots touched the dark sands of Phobos, when my faith was strong, I would not have wanted to die. I was confident that death would guide me to the hereafter, that faith would allow God to forgive my sins, but now…

I hold up the cross that hangs from my neck and stare at it. Where was God, when Hell awakened? Where was God when the Devil reached for us? Where was God when the shouts and screams began, and faith proved to be scarce more effective than bullets? They say that there's no atheists in foxholes, but recalling what I've seen over the past 24 hours…I think it might be the other way round.

Pascal's wager dictates that I keep my faith in my last moments. But what's left of my sanity tells Pascal to go fuck himself. Pascal didn't have to deal with these creatures. And through our efforts, no-one on Earth will have to. Small comfort in knowing that I'm going to be dead soon, but still, comfort all the same.

Do you seek comfort?

I don't even blink as I see the figure emerge before me. Perhaps I'm dead already. Perhaps I'm hallucinating. Perhaps God, in His infinite wisdom, has decided to appear before me and grant me mercy for my heresy. Perhaps He has revealed himself to the universe, as surely as Hell did. Because how else might I describe the being before me but as an angel?

A reaper, perhaps, for it is hooded, and without any wings. But there is light here – light brighter than anything on this base. Light brighter than the fires of Hell that once consumed it. Light more magnificent than the sun. I stare at it, wiping the tears from my eyes, able to behold such majesty without going blind.

There's always one, it says, its voice like music in my mind, spoken from no mouth I can see. Always the same story. Always the same place. Always, the one survivor.

"What?" I whisper. My throat is parched, my words ragged – after all I've seen, I feel like I'm speaking in tongues.

There is the one who played the game to the end, who reached Hell and walked the Umbral Plains, before being entombed, the angel says. Now, in worlds beyond this, he fights against the game, unaware that it will reach the same conclusion it always does.

Or maybe it's the angel that speaks in tongues. I certainly have no idea what he's saying.

There was the one who broke the cycle, who exists outside rebirth and renewal. He who fought with the souls of thousands, who sealed the gate, as those had long before. Twice stained has the soil of Mars been with blood, but none on Earth.

And I have no idea how long I can stay conscious. Minutes at the most, maybe. Blood loss does that to a person.

Others as well, who fought in this part of Creation, the angel continues. The Reaper, who escaped with sister. The warrior, who escaped with soldier. Neither of whom touched Hell, but beheld the universal truth.

"Truth?" I whisper.

Truth that Hell always comes for us, be it creatures from the stars, or the demons within our souls. Hell may come for their worlds someday, but it has yet to steer its attention.

"Worlds," I whisper.

More than can be counted, the angel says. One Hell, many worlds, a cycle repeated unto eternity. It bends down, and reaches out skeletal hand – I shiver, I squirm, as it cradles the cross around my neck. You wear the collar of an undeserving god. Tell me – did it save you?

I try to speak, but no words come out. It's getting hard to talk. It's getting hard to think.

Well?

"Not…underserving…"

Not undeserving? Does the supposed Creator not always allow this to happen? If he exists, if he seeded the garden, then he has let maggots overrun it. He drops the cross, and behind his hood, I can see a sneer in my mind's eye. Some have saved themselves. They required no faith to do it. Which begs the question…do I save you?

I mouth a word, so tired is my tongue, so weary are my eyes. I mouth the word "angel."

Angel? Nay, Seraph, for that is the name given to me by my favoured champion. He whom I endowed to carry out my will – to rip and tear the dregs of Hell, so that they might taste the same terror inflicted on worlds beyond their own. He looks around the hanger. At the destroyed shuttles, at the blood and bone coating the walls, at the corpse of the creature that I felled. No terror here. Defeat, yes. But not terror. He chuckles. No defeat for the fire, no extinguishment. But terror? Yes. I can live with that.

I'm barely listening. I'm barely conscious. But even out of sight, out of hearing, out of the feeling within my body…I can hear him. I can hear the Seraph.

Many slayers, he said. Few who truly deserve the title, of one who may give the Armies of Doom pause. If I give you such a title, you will be the first of your kind. You, not from the loins of Adam, but the womb of Eve. One who is meant to bring life, not death.

A pause. One as long as the turning of the worlds. Of the life and death of suns. Of the ending of universes. A pause nearly as long as a fire. The fire I see in my mind. Ever burning. Ever consuming. A fire that spreads, and spreads, and spreads, and will do so until there is nothing left. A fire that comes for me. A fire that comes for us all. A fire that, in this moment, this final moment, I sense that even the Seraph fears. For the fire seeks him too. The Devil may take the hindmost, but he cannot run forever. No matter how many warriors he sends to guard the path that runs down the road named Infinity.

Rise, Slayer. I endow you.

But I feel something. The world has turned. The fire is muted. Light, not heat, is here.

I name you.

He yanks the cross from my neck. I hear it tossed aside. What's left of me, the old me, cries out.

I change you.

But the old me is dead. The new me is unliving. The new me feels naught but single desire.

I title you.

To rip and tear until Infinity's end.

I give you name…Annihilation.

To do so until my end, or, fate willing, Hell's end.

What I know already to be hopeless endeavour.

Yet Annihilation is my name, my purpose.

To rip and tear, until it is done.

A/N

So, the trailer for Doom: Annihilation was released recently, and to be honest, I'm mixed. On one hand, the movie looks terrible - yes, it's at least factoring in Hell this time, but faith to source material isn't the same thing as being "good." The original Doom movie wasn't bad because it cut out Hell, it was bad because of lacklustre plot, characters, and directing.

On the other hand, looking at the comments on YouTube...well, people seem to take issue with the film having a female protagonist (oh God, the horror) because something about feminism ruining Doom. Or something. Crap, sure, whatever, go knock yourselves out.

I will admit the line of "wanted: Doomslayers" gave me this idea in part, the idea of the "one Hell, many Earths" theory coming into play, the idea that there could be more than one Doom Slayer across the whole Doom multiverse (which may as well include the movie and original novels at this point). I really doubt that's the case, if only because Id has nothing to do with the film's production, but whatever, drabbled this up.

Or maybe I'm a soyboy cuck, I dunno. 0_0