"Your foe is well equipped, well-trained, battle-hardened. He believes his gods are on his side. Let him believe what he will. We have the Doom Slayer on our side" the motto of the Imperial Guard army
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Third person POV
[??? Later]
The Warp never changed. There was no peace. No stillness. No time. Just a storm of madness and demons, where the Doom Slayer roamed without end.
He stalked through the minor domains of chaos gods—walls of bone, ruined cities with some of Tzeentch touch, rivers that have rot and pestilence, and domain of Slaneesh that give you all the thing you ever wanted and some more, but he walked through all them without batting a eye to them. His fists never stopped moving. Every step forward was into another ambush, another fight, another demon foolish enough to try him. He never spoke. Only grunted. Only bled. Only killed.
Then, something different happend.
The space cracked open like glass, spilling colors that shouldn't exist, and from it emerged a figure—tall, elegant, and grotesque head with shifting images of two faces one human and one with ugly head . A Greater Daemon of Tzeentch. Its voice came like oil in water, slipping between thoughts and trickery.
"So much rage in so little form," it said, floating lazily above the cracked ground. "You wear it like armor… yet you know not who you truly are."
The Doom Slayer stood still, blood dripping from his hands. He didn't understand its words—but he understood the feeling behind them: mockery. Contempt. Manipulation.
"Do you not tire of this cycle? The hunt? The pain? What if I offered you more? Power. Clarity. Memory. Free of The pain."
The demon extended a hand made of eyes and mouth.
The Slayer answered him by charging at him at full speed menacingly.
Then Psychic lightning erupted from the daemon's palm, warping the ground and searing the air. The Slayer pushed through it, body screaming in resistance but never slowing. He slammed a shoulder into the daemon's chest, driving it into the "ground" with a crunch. A second later, a clawed hand slashed across his ribs, throwing him back.
The two figures circled each other—power vs persistence, spellcraft vs raw will.
Then, without warning, a summoning circle lit up beneath both of them. The ground split. Light consumed the field.
The Doom Slayer shouted something, but it was lost to the noise.
[3 hours later]
"Be careful with him, he is a rabid animal"
He shifted slightly, as he awoke in chains, his legs dragging against the smooth stone walkway.
"…Rip… and tear…"
The voices came before his vision returned. Soldiers. Grunting. Swearing. Dragging him through a hallway. His hands were bound. His muscles burned. He was disoriented. But he was alive.
They hauled him into a great hall—stone pillars, banners of a white lion, armored warriors standing tall. And at the end of the chamber, a throne. Upon it sat a man with a crown of iron and a cold stare.
The Slayer was thrown to his knees. One soldier stepped back as he began to mutter again, louder this time.
"…guts… huge guts… kill them… must kill them all…"
"Where did you find this creature?" he asked.
One of the soldiers replied, "Your Majesty, he was summoned by a cultist hiding near the eastern ruins. A Chaos priest—possessed a villager. We tracked the ritual and intercepted too late. The priest was dead. This… thing came through instead."
"Through the Warp?" the king asked.
"Aye," the soldier confirmed, nodding. "But he fought the summoner. Tore his body in half. If the priest hadn't already been dying from the ritual backlash, that thing would've finished him."
The king leaned forward slightly. "Not a servant of Chaos, then?"
The captain spoke next. "Not willingly, it seems. He was dazed when he came through—confused. Still bleeding. But the moment he saw the summoner, he attacked like a hound let off the leash."
Another guard, still gripping a bruised shoulder, added with a grunt, "He didn't hesitate, Your Grace. No words, no questions. Just violence. Like he knew exactly what the priest was."
The king looked back at the chained man—now growling lowly, muttering under his breath again.
"…Rip… and… tear… kill them all…"
"What of his nature?" the king asked. "Is he a daemon? A cursed soul?"
"We're not sure," the captain replied. "He bleeds. He breathes like us. No visible mutations. No demonic psychic pressure around him, we even had a holy priest to check up on him for anything and nothing was detected. But he came through the Warp, and that alone is cause for concern."
Valen the king's right handman, standing beside the throne, leaned in slightly. "He radiates fury, not corruption. There's no Chaos mark on him. He feels… like a predator."
The soldier nodded in agreement. "He killed three of our best men before we even managed to bring him down. Took a full volley of las-fire and heavy bolt bullets, but he kept going until we managed to state him with enough tranquilizers to sedate two titan dragons."
The king studied the Doom Slayer longer, thoughtful. "And yet here he kneels. Still alive. Still fighting inside, even now."
"Should we execute him, sire?" one of the guards asked.
The king didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the Slayer, and then he simply said, "Not yet. There's more to this one. Lock him away. I want him watched at all times. If he's a threat, we'll end him on our terms."
Valen raised a brow. "You think he might be useful my lord?"
"I think he might be something… else," the king said. "And if we're wise, we'll learn what before we decide his fate."
The Doom Slayer looked up, teeth clenched.
"Rip… and… tear! The demons… they are everywhere!"
And then he lunged.
It took eight of the elite men to bring him down, pummeling him with electrified clubs and tranquilizers until he collapsed. Breathing hard. Still awake. Still struggling.
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[at the dugeon]
The dungeon was damp, reeked of sweat and blood, and eerily silent, except for the creaking of heavy iron doors. In the hallway beyond the Slayer's cell, two men stood speaking in low voices.
One was Valen, Tall, bald headed, armored in white and black power armour. The other was Captain Roran, one of the squad leaders from the summoning site.
"You saw what he did" Valen said quietly, not looking at the other man. "Three of our elite soldiers, broken before they even raised a weapon. Eight more to bring him down."
Roran nodded grimly. "I was there valen. The bastard moved like something out of a bad tale—faster than a mortal should. Smarter too. He fights like he's done it a thousand times before."
Valen finally turned to him. "He has. Look at him. That kind of efficiency isn't instinct. It's muscle memory. Multiple battles has shaped him, look at his scars and most of them should have killed him but instead it just healed over like it was a scratch, its ludicrous."
Then Silence, except the raspy breathing of the doom slayer.
"We took a blood sample while transporting him," Roran said, lowering his voice further. "I ran it through the bio-scan systems. He's… mostly human."
"Mostly?"
"Same genetic base," Roran said. "But enhanced. There are extra organs—at least a dozen we haven't identified. One stabilizes blood loss. Another filters poisons. One's embedded directly into his nervous system—likely for pain control or adrenaline output. Whoever made him… built a weapon."
Valen frowned. "He's not of Chaos. We'd know that much. You sure he not a Xeno that resembles a lot like us humans?"
Roran shook his head. "No. His DNA is one hundred percent to us. If I had to guess he's from some lost human colony that was lost to the Warp storm."
Valen's eyes went distant. "So there more of us out there in the galaxy. . ."
Silence passed between them.
"What are the options?" Roran asked after a moment. "We keep him locked up? Kill him? Try to make him one of us?"
Valen didn't answer immediately.
"If we kill him, we might never understand what he is or where planet he comes from" Roran continued. "If we let him loose, he could turn on us. And if he's what the summoning was aiming for… maybe worse things are looking for him too."
"Dissections," Valen said. "By the Magi. They want to study him. Tear him apart and see what makes him work."
Roran spat to the side. "Typical Magi."
"Others say make him a slave," Valen added. "Chain him up and use him as a weapon."
Roran didn't look pleased. "Slavery never ends well. Especially for something like him, who was inside of the warp."
"And King Norvick?" Valen asked.
"He wants time," Roran said. "He's watching. Measuring the pros and cons. He thinks this thing more than just a beast, he could be a worthy soldier."
Valen's brow furrowed. He glanced down the corridor, toward the heavy door that sealed the Slayer's cell before leaving.
In the darkness of his cell, the Slayer waited.
His body healed slowly. His eyes watched every movement outside the bars. His mind was blank except for one thing.
The demons weren't gone.
They were never gone.
And he had to kill them.
All of them.
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