Slayer Testament

They are rage and brutal.
Utterly without mercy.
But you… you will be worse.
Rip and Tear, until it is done.

Deep in the forests of Remnant, far from any sign of civilization, was a cave.

The cave was vast, and deep. So deep that whatever creatures that dwelled within it knew not the warmth or light of the sun, only the cold and damp air that seemed so still at times. But the creatures didn't seem to care, because they were creatures of Grimm.

Grimm. A word that haunted the denizens of Remnant for many eons. A terror that besieges all, both Human and Faunus, and desires nothing more than to kill and destroy all their works. None knew where they came from, only their purpose; to reap lives and lay waste to everything in sight. Though civilization still thrives despite this terror, all are still wary of the potential devastation they could bring if they amassed in enough numbers. Entire kingdoms would be overrun, and countless thousands would die to their savagery.

But this story does not focus on these creatures. No, it focuses on something worse. Far, far worse.

For in the cave, in its deepest part, where light is an alien thing and warmth is non-existent, are a set of stone doors.

They are massive, almost twenty feet tall and ten feet wide. Both are covered with words in a dozen long-dead languages, with depictions of demons far more grotesque and monstrous than any Grimm ingrained on its surface. The demons were all converging upon one man, standing atop a mountain of dead demons; one hand on the throat of an unlucky demon while the other held a glowing red sword. Behind the man was a hooded figure with a pair of white wings, its arms spread out as though in welcome. Or in warning.

If one could understand one of the many languages ingrained on the doors, they would read:

So you walk eternally through the shadow realms,
Standing against evil where all others falter.
May your thirst for retribution never quench,
May the blood on your sword never dry,
And may we never need you again.

The words were ingrained upon the door many eons ago, by a people long lost to time and the trampling of endless Grimm hordes. They were the survivors to a mistake, when the brother Gods abandoned their creation and desperation got the better of the ones left behind. With hordes of Grimm scrabbling at their walls and their armies exhausted from days for continuous fighting, they turned to heinous acts to gain the power needed to triumph against the Grimm.

Instead, they had unleashed Hell and paid dearly for it.

But before Remnant was conquered, the Doom Slayer intervened and drove back the hordes both demonic and Grimm. His efforts allowed those left to rebuild and prosper for a time. And in time, the people were erased by the Grimm, and with them, the memory of their savior.

But the Grimm remember. They know of the rage that had tempted so many of their kind to test their hides against his might, only to die horrid deaths. The memory of the Doom Slayer was ingrained into their very beings, turning into instinctive fear.

The Witch of the Dark Continent remembers, and thus she stations her minions at this door. Should he ever return, her ambitions would be in peril, and the Doom Slayer was sure to finish where left off.

But it had been so long now. So many years since the dreaded Slayer was last seen that a seed of doubt began to sprout within her blackened heart. Perhaps her vigil was but a waste of time. Perhaps her Grimm would be better off serving her and her minions in her mission to bring the Kingdoms of Man to their knees—

There was a flash of light and the Grimm in the cave stirred into wakefulness, shaking off the millennia of dust and moss as they investigated the source.

The massive stone doors pulsed with red light. Red like blood and fire and carnage. It pulsed again and again like a beating heart of some massive beast. The Grimm took an uncertain step back, recoiling as the light pulsed faster and faster and filling the words with red radiance.

Something hit the door from the other side.

It hit hard enough to shake the cavern, dislodging dirt and dust and stalactites from the ceiling. The sound rang like a hammerblow in the red-lit darkness. Then it rang out as something hit the door again. And again. And again.

Then they heard the chanting. Distant and muffled at first, but slowly grew in volume. Like an army bellowing their war-chants, marching closer and closer.

rip and tear

Rip and Tear

Rip and Tear!

RIP AND TEAR!

RIP AND TEAR!

Then, in a loud detonation that broke stone and sent many fragments flying every which way, the doors opened to reveal a tear in reality that swirled in a thousand different shades of red and roiled with the anguish and despair of countless thousands of damned souls. Through that tear, a figure stepped through.

It was a man, clad in green armor of a futuristic design. One bloody hand held a shotgun, still smoking from recent use, while the other held the large, severed head of a horned demon. The demon's face was contorted in a visage of fear and utter despair, and the meat that hung from its neck was torn, not cut.

The man had torn the monstrosity's head from its body.

The Grimm around the man growled and howled, their bodies tense and ready to fight. The leader of a pack, an enormous Beowolf, stepped forward and roared, the sound a mix of bestial rage and unnatural aggression. In the confined space of the cave it echoed and shook the ground.

The armored man dropped the severed head and roared back, louder and angrier. Far angrier than anything could ever be, with such malice that the alpha Beowolf recoiled in shock and… fear.

The Doom Slayer pumped his shotgun and advanced. The sounds of the slaughter that followed drew every Grimm for miles around, but they too failed to stop the Slayer.

On her throne deep in the Dark Continent, Salem felt something cold and heavy settle into the pit of her stomach. Something she hadn't felt in many millennia.

Fear.

A/N: SlugSLinger is back at it again with a new fic! Honestly, I have no idea where this one will lead, but rest assured canon will be kicked off the rails and be covered in the blood and guts of many Grimm.