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doomtale

Epilogue, Part III

Feb 25th, 2018
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  1. A hot wind brushed through his hair. His eyes were closed to the occasional wisp of sandy dust that came up with it, sealed to the outside world as he meditated, dedicated his thought to his task, pondered upon it, ruinated on it.
  2.  
  3. He had never, could never, would never stop thinking about it.
  4.  
  5. The Doom Slayer stood up from his sitting position atop the mesa. All of Hell stood before him Wasted. Empty for as far as he could see. Yet he knew it was not empty. There were more of them, and there would always be more. More for him to destroy. More of them to wreak his vengeance upon. More of them who have yet to taste the bite of his sword.
  6.  
  7. He held that sword out aloft, directly in front of his face. Still stark white. Still absent of the glyphs that indicated its power. He had lost count of how many demons he had slaughtered since the fall of the crux. It had been so long. Ages, it seemed. The thought of that fateful day gave way to others, of the monsters and Frisk, of his sacrifice, of the ultimate test of his inner strength. It still stung him somewhat, but not enough to stop him. Not enough to sway his opinion: he had done the right thing. That he would always be sure of. From the day he saw the boy awake, to the last breath he would draw, he assured himself that he would always know he had done the right thing.
  8.  
  9. Thoughts returned from the past to the present, and his eyes from the images in his mind to the image afore him.
  10.  
  11. He could have sworn it was not so before, but something had changed near the quillon block, on the lower portion of the blade. Against the backdrop of the many shadows in the valley before him, he could see it. No doubt wrought from the hellish plasma that ran through each demon’s blood.
  12.  
  13. One of the glyphs was returning. It was faint and barely visible, and had not regained full power, but its silhouette was visible against the blackness. Faint, fickle, weak, but with all certainty, it was there. With every swathe cut through demonic flesh, its power had begun to return.
  14.  
  15. Once more the Doom Slayer’s eyes closed, and that same, malicious smile spread across his face upon their opening.
  16.  
  17. For he heard more of them.
  18.  
  19. Some clamoring in the distance, some roar or shriek or wail that signified their presence. What foolishness they brandished under the guise of ferocity. Had they known he was nearby enough to hear, it would not have mattered if it was a battle between demons, or an attempt to torture another soul. They would have held their tongue for fear of the Unchained Predator ripping it out. He followed the sound, down into one of the gulleys within the canyon.
  20.  
  21. It was another bout of infighting, participants numbering by the score. None yet had been alerted to the Doom Slayer’s presence as he sat atop a high rock overlooking them
  22.  
  23. Their verse, their ode to his fury, their testament to his rancor, played out in his head as he began anew his rampage.
  24.  
  25. In the first age, in the first battle
  26.  
  27. He descended, landing with a fist into the ground, the white light of the Crucible now burning bright behind him as his sword out reached out and aft. That light caught every demonic eye and stopped every hellish heart.
  28.  
  29. When, the shadows first lengthened, one stood.
  30.  
  31. He gave them no chance to flee or process the sight. Those who knew his visage knew they were dead already. A foolhardy few attempted to put up a fight.
  32.  
  33. Burned by the fires of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of hell, and tainted beyond ascension
  34.  
  35. His sword cleaved through them with ease. Stroke after stroke, his blade carved them apart in burning heat and boiling hate. Imps fled and were crushed under his boot. Hell Knights charged and felt his blade twist in their stomachs with his powerful wrists, wringing their agony as the sweetest nectar for his drinking.
  36.  
  37. He chose the path of perpetual torment
  38.  
  39. Some tried flinging fir at him as they fled, but no such missile hit its mark. All either missed or were deflected by the Crucible’s mighty edge, some back at their casters.
  40.  
  41. In his ravenous hatred, he found no peace, and with boiling blood, he scoured the umbral plains, seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
  42.  
  43. Swing, bisect the imp. Keep running, keep swinging. The mancubus is slow. Punish his slovenliness. Stick the blade through his back, rupture his belly and spill his entrails. Two barons covering the others’ retreat. They will fail. Charge them. Sever their knees. Feed them death, ram it down their throats, through their necks.
  44.  
  45. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels
  46.  
  47. The stragglers keep fleeing. Will not let them escape. Charge for them. See their eyes. There is nothing but fear. Let them drown in it with their own blood.
  48.  
  49. And those that tasted the bite of his sword named him -
  50.  
  51. The last one. An imp. Weak and prostrate on the ground, turning to face you
  52.  
  53. Let him behold you. Raise your weapon. Hear him scream.
  54.  
  55. Swing.
  56.  
  57.  
  58.  
  59. THE DOOM SLAYER.
  60.  
  61.  
  62.  
  63. THE END
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