Doom: Keen Absolution
Set during the events of Doom II, with some elements of Wolfenstein 3D and Commander Keen in the backstory. During Hell's invasion of Earth, the lone survivor of the Phobos continues to challenge the demonic forces, moving slowly but surely into the heart of the invading forces. How does the journal of an ancestor factor into what's happening now?
1996
"I just watched a planet burn."
The pencil scribbled in the notebook. "Most kids my age think about baseball, video games, some of them maybe GIRLS. I've always thought about quantum mechanics, wormhole theory, and other ideas that kids think are boring.
Most kids aren't as smart as I am and I just found out that my grandfather ended the second World War by himself. I built a rocketship to Mars in my backyard.
How did the planet burn? Imagine a rubber band rolling over a baseball. That's what the shockwave looked like from my window. It had to be worse on the surface.
He's gone. I wanted to take him into custody and return him to his family. I don't know, how do you tell someone that their child is dead?
How do you tell someone that their kid died on another planet?
I can't. No one would believe me, I'm a kid. I'll write it down. Maybe someone will understand one day."
Thruster speed to the surface of Mars slowed as the forward burners engaged. He didn't want to land too hard. The last time was a mess, but his new ship was much better.
The radar showed the blip he'd been after. "He's there..." Mortimer McMire's black rocket had landed only hours ago. Whatever Billy's old enemy was doing, it wasn't good. When was it? How many times had Morty tried something? First a planet, then the galaxy, then sights set on the universe itself.
Most people would discount the evil desires of a child to be simple wishes. Billy Blaze knew better. Few others knew how evil the boy really was, what vile ideas brewed within that brain. Murder. Mortimer McMire wanted to murder people.
Touching onto the red surface, grabbing his helmet and pistol, pogo stick in hand, he breathed in the Martian air as the hatch opened. They were far from the developed section, near mountains. Commander Keen had come back to Mars and whatever was in those mountains, he had to find out.
Hopping onto the stick, jumping through the air, speed was paramount. Racing along the planet's surface, minutes paced quickly as he neared the caves. "Holy..." Remains of explosive materials decorated the rocks. The blast marks were fresh. "I think I found him," Keen mumbled, strapping the pogo stick to his back and venturing within, laser blaster ready.
Within, sights unlike no other he had seen anywhere. The green stone, carved with faces of some unknown horror, formed some sort of temple within the mountain. Flaming columns burned bright, red and blue, some unnatural form of combustion. Taking readings with his wrist monitor, they were inconclusive. 'I'll have to study them later...'
Further within the quiet halls, a heavy wooden door had been pushed open. Fresh scratches in the floor told it had been recent. Pushing further on, Blaze saw his nemesis, kneeling before a massive statue. "McMire!"
"Keen," the voice responded. "Can't I simply enjoy some time off without you following?"
He said, "you don't take time off! You don't think I'm THAT dumb?"
"One point, no..." Mortimer was smarter, true, but only by a fraction. "Beat it!"
Aiming at the boy, Keen shouted, "come on, you're going home!"
"As IF," Morty screamed, beginning some ancient chant. "The power within shall give me the means to do as I want! You can't stop this!"
Taking his shot, the laser beam bounded away, deflected like dust in the wind. "Hey... gotta think of something else!"
"Too late! I can feel it!" His chants lit the room, flames burning hotter as the face of the horned demon shook. "I- I will.... no... HELP ME!"
Air became hotter, scalding. "Hold on I- OW!" As much as Billy Blaze wished to run in and grab his enemy, the room was too heated. They would both die. "No... AW!" A rescue attempt would be futile. Leaving Morty behind, not a hero's way, but he had to run. Taking to his pogo stick, bouncing faster, out of the caves, the glow from behind seemed brighter, as if it were going to rip the mountains apart. Brighter and hotter, expanding faster, it was a race to his ship. Hopping in and hitting the engines, the boy wondered if it was in time.
Finally. Engaging thrusters, the ship took off, into the air, clearing orbit as the energy wave blew, rolling over the surface of Mars. He watched helplessly as everyone and everything burned to ash. Now, if more true than ever, Mars was a dead world.
Easing back into his command chair, a sudden horror overtook the child.
Waking up within a massive chamber, Mortimer McMire's body ached. "I'm not dead! I'm not dead! Take that, Keen!"
"You are, quite unfortunately, wrong..."
The voice had come from nowhere, it seemed. However, the gigantic skull, sat within a steep wall, was far too alike the idol in the temple.
"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling a sudden sense of fear.
The voice answered, "you were killed. This is Hell. I am Baphomet, ruler of this place."
"HELL? NO!" Dropping to his knees, defeated, McMire felt like crying, a rare feeling for the psychopathic boy.
"Do not worry," Baphomet replied, "you shall not be tormented. You have a quality I need. The intelligence to gather my forces, strengthen them, and provide means of an invasion of Earth."
Smiling now, teeth showing in the ugly light, "now you're talkin'. I'm in!"
"Very well..." A force ripped through Morty's body, painful and powerful, his face twisting and turning, skull fractured open, body expanding. The sense of this new form took some time to recognize but it was great. Four legs, ending in sharp claws, two hands, and a brain that formed most of it's physique. New knowledge filled the ganglions and nerves, knowledge far beyond the living.
No longer a child, matured in seconds, the demon brain said, "we have much work to do."
2003
"Mind if I smoke?"
"No. Mister Blascowicz, about this entry in your journal..." The man in black felt no desire to keep secrets. "We know they were not the work of a child's mind. You did, in fact, visit other planets."
Taking a quick puff, the young man gave him a solid look. "Good for you. I repair televisions now."
"Of course you do. And why is that? Might it be because your genius ended in such failure?"
Billy Blaze resisted the urge to take a swing. Not out of restraint, but he knew damn well that the room would be filled with armed men if he did anything stupid. And someone of his intelligence was not expected to do stupid things.
"NASA withheld the truth from the citizens, the truth of Mars, the truth of a civilization. But that changed almost a decade ago. We saw what appeared to be the surface burning away. Tell me."
"Fine." Smashing out the cigarette, Billy explained, "Mortimer McMire wasn't a child. He was pure evil. He'd have killed us all given time."
"Go on..."
"I don't know really what happened on Mars but those things I saw, those faces in the rock..." Yawning, he recalled, "they weren't anything native to Mars. They weren't... Mars didn't burn. I think Morty found a gateway to Hell itself. That's what happened. Hellfire." Ripping several pages free, notes and drawings, Bill pushed them across the table. "These are yours now. Don't forget what it means."
The man said, "and what does it mean?"
"Mortimer McMire... he'll come back. If that really was Hell, he's met the devil. As I said, he wasn't a boy."
"He was pure evil." Tucking the papers away safely, the man from NASA said, "I hope, for all of us, sir, that you are very wrong."
2071
It was this... or nothing. A quick check of his pockets revealed three pistol clips, six shotgun shells and a spare battery for the plasma gun. Possibly enough to clear the warehouse, but if the stocks were spent, then he'd waste the last of his lifeline for nothing.
So be it.
The plasma gun was clipped securely to his back, a double-barreled shotgun slung from the hip and pistol holstered. Drawing the combat knife, the door pushed open. He saw it, hoping it didn't see him. The brown creature, spikes shining in the dim light, was focused on a lunch box, having torn the lid open to digest whatever rotting remnants of food still remained.
Checking the plasma gun, he saw a low charge. The battery was spent, perhaps enough left to fire off a single pulse. It would slow him down. Gently, it was placed on the floor, making no noise.
Stepping easy, careful to avoid sound, Marine training in full effect, he forced the knife up, trough the back of the neck, into the monster's brain. Instantly fatal, incredibly silent. He only hoped the sound of the body hitting the floor didn't attract any unwanted attention.
Flynn Taggart. Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. Court Martial pending with a career uncertain. Perhaps not anymore. The government of his country was gone. His military branch now an idea rather than a recognized reality. Hell had come to Earth and had seen an end to reality. He was certain that at least half of the planet's population was now dead.
He was certain that these demons had planned this. They instigated nuclear strikes, knowing that any of their own "killed" would return. They had to. They were from Hell. The bad souls merely went back to Hell. At least, that's what he thought. No negotiations, no surrender, no time. The demons had invaded Earth with purpose and moved swift.
But he survived. Locked away in a cell on the Phobos moon base, away from his unit, perhaps the only reason he survived the initial outbreak of Hell itself. They let their guard down when they had believed everyone to be dead. Fighting his way through Phobos, Deimos and even a sector of Hell had been almost too easy. It made no sense. Billions dead but they were unable to kill this one man.
It didn't have to. He knew that he would live and that he would fight as long as he lived. Winning was irrelevant. The war had already been lost.
Semper Fidelis.
The corpse lying nearby hid a surprise, the last effort from the dead to help him- three full pistol clips. Better than nothing. Peering into the hall, he saw them, three undead men, base security. Lifeless eyes, mouths dry, the converted sentries of Hell's invasion. His buddies, comrades, everyone he'd known on Phobos. Shells to be used after death. He killed them. How could someone kill the dead?
Pulling the slide of his standard issue handgun, three shots went off, carefully aimed for the heads, all three targets to the floor. It was only the beginning. The brown imp turned the corner, spotting the bodies, spotting Taggart. It screamed out, a warning to the others.
Flynn Taggart was a man who had survived by quick actions. Six shots rang out, the imp bleeding, alive, but injured. The monster died in seconds as the pink demon ran, stepping over its own ally to rush the hallway, its only thought to sink its teeth into Flynn Taggart, USMC Corporal, just another meal.
Ducking back into the break room, Taggart knew these things were dangerous, but also stupid. On cue, it lodged in the door frame, mouth as big as his torso, snarling and drooling, unable to squeeze through. Shotgun loaded, point blank, both barrels split the monster's brain.
Wiping the spray of blood from his face, Fly shoved the body out of his way. This place was no longer safe. A quick check of the zombies supplied him a fresh clip, a loaded pump-action and an assault rifle. Taggart loved these. They used the same clips as his pistol but were more accurate and fired faster. Shame his last one had jammed.
Hearing them, running quietly into the main warehouse floor, Fly dodged a stream of imps sent to investigate. He'd have to be quiet, avoid being seen, until he knew damn well what he was up against.
Content that he has at least a few seconds to breathe, Flynn Taggart inspected the surroundings. It had to be that... the pink minotaur. It was angry, howling commands, screams of demons that human ears couldn't comprehend. He was certain they could talk, speak in his language, but they rarely did.
The walkway above, a perfect spot, if only he could make the ladder. The way HAD to be dark enough... taking his chances, Fly raced for the ladder, climbing as fast as his body would allow, ducking down. He only hoped it was just imps. The flying skulls would be a problem and those big, red floating orbs could be worse.
No movement. They hadn't seen him. Taking position, rifle aimed, he began to fire, hitting imps in the head. Jumping forth, he dodged the onslaught of fireballs and plasma, the walkway rocking from the stress. The metal was scorched and warped. No time to think, only time to shoot. Squeezing off rounds as he ran, Flynn Taggart took down as many demons as possible, injuring more, jumping the railing and using stacks of wooden crates to reach the floor.
He'd have to find a hiding spot, fire, find another spot, kill them quickly, if only... his feet felt it, round and hard, almost tripping the Marine. Luck was on his side. A standard UAC rocket launcher. How luck would hold up, however... two rockets loaded. Lucky enough. He only needed two.
Now to get them in one spot. Banging crates, making noise, Taggart left a trail of sound. Two rockets wouldn't kill the minotaur, Hell's Baron of the invasion, but it would damn sure kill the imps. Simple and dumb, the imp made up for its basic intelligence in strength and numbers. Tossing balls of superheated fluid didn't hurt their credibility, either.
Taking aim, rocket primed, he waited until the crowd was gathered in a small opening, a single rocket taking flight, striking center, the crowd of monsters sent reeling from the explosion. Body parts lodged in crates, bodies and blood caking the floor only two lived, which he dispatched by gunfire. Ammunition was scarce but it was best not to take chances.
Only the Baron remained. Or so he thought as the nearest tall shipping crate cracked open, a skeleton falling out. Only it didn't fall, it walked. How it screamed, he might never guess, but it screamed at him, and how a being with no eyes could see, well, another question that he didn't have time for.
It swung at him. Almost too comical and unreal to believe, the bastard threw a punch. Dodging, never one to let his Marine training slack off, Fly aimed his rocket, taking his final shot. He almost screamed a long list of obscenities as the thing dodged. Tossing the launcher at it, the tube struck, seeming to irritate the monster. Shots fired. "Right," he muttered out, "like it even HAS internal organs..."
The monster was pissed. Taggart saw the tubes grafted to the shoulder pads of the armor, glowing. Running away, knowing when the shit would hit the fan, a jump to the side cleared him from the missile, the explosion splintering crates and sending even more pieces of charred imp raining down.
A second missile fired, rolling to the side to dodge, only no explosion. The missile curved in the air, pointed at him once more. It was tracking him. Running and dodging, Fly did his best to avoid it, but the thing didn't give up.
The Baron was furious, stomping forth through the open warehouse floor. Perfect. Leading the projectile, running around the Baron, barely dodging a glowing claw, he used his enemy as a shield. The missile collided, exploding, burning the minotaur. Taggart was safe. The Baron was angry but had lost interest in him. Instead, it confronted the skeleton, slashing at it. Unwilling to tolerate the Baron's temper, it punched back, the two beings fighting.
He'd seen this before. A monster would throw a fireball at him, hit a zombie or any other creature, and they would fight. Unfriendly in every way.
Falling back to regroup, or whatever one person could do, he tripped over a metal box. "Shit," he grumbled. Ready to move on, he saw the UAC emblem and the heavy latch. "Come on, come on, come on..." Opening the container, it was like Christmas and birthdays all at once.
The BFG-9000.
How he'd wished his last one hadn't run out of firepower. They were heavy, hard to haul around, but could bake an elephant in seconds. The perfect weapon of war, and his only real chance. Plugging the battery in, flicking the ignition switches, his prize lit up. Hoisting the gun, braced to his stomach, the two monsters still argued. No more.
They had no time to react, the bright ball of green fusion plasma impacting, sending skin, bone and nearby wood in all directions. Content that the blast was cleared, Fly examined the remains. A useless chunk of round metal, shattered ribs falling out, and a stench of rotten meat. Obvious bits of organic tissue had been lodged inside the armor, whether it was important was anyone's guess. The missile tubed were damaged, cooked by the BFG, not that he had a clue how to work the launchers.
The monsters were dead. Eventually, more would arrive, but for now, he had time to strip the place. if there was a BFG-9000 here, he would find more.
"Report..."
The behemoth was not pleased. Metal support legs kept it off the ground, the Baron insignificant to it. "We have lost... a compliment of imps, one of our kind, and one of the Revenant warriors all slaughtered."
The brain pulsated. Briefly, this being considered tearing the Baron to ribbons, a vulcan cannon installed that would kill the underling in a second, but it kept calm.
"A human has defied us this far, and will continue to do so... continue all efforts to kill the one known as Taggart. Entire nations of this planet have been crushed. He is one man. he will fall eventually..."
Rolling down the interstate, it felt good to drive. The roads were empty, an eerie feeling. His main concern was teleportation. All he needed was a roadblock of Barons or a Cyberdemon in the middle of the road. Strange, however, they didn't simply teleport to wherever he was at any given time.
He also felt safe. The back of his vehicle was stocked. Ammunition, weapons, and his wonderful BFG. Even the few plasma rifles would last well enough. Not that he could ever carry all of it, but it was nice to have.
Ahead, his old home. Orlando, Florida was less than an hour away. Maybe, being home, he could find some brief moment of comfort.
Parked out front, his old childhood home intact, the suburbs surrounding the city were deserted but undamaged. At least, it appeared that way. Deep down, he hoped his father was inside, zombified, asking for a bullet to the head. Even if he was alive... no, he wouldn't dishonor the Marine Corps with murder. Even if the asshole was asking for it.
The key was under the mat, like always. As expected, no one home. People had evacuated, perhaps weeks ago. No fresh food left, it would all be rotted, but hopefully his father was still a cheap prick who kept a stock of canned goods at home. And did the plumbing still work? Did clean water still run through the city pipes?
Wounds bandaged, a meal cooked, and clean water. It was all he had hoped for. This place was quiet. Perhaps too quiet, but still, no demons. No zombies. No teleportation. Either no one knew he was here, or Hell didn't care.
The old book entertained him. No television, no music. Electricity ran but all broadcasts were dead. Just books. One had been special to him for a long time. A tome written by a man named Bill, his great-great grandfather. More of a travel diary, really. In his adult life and old age, the man had explored the world, keeping detailed records. But it was the earlier tales that fascinated him, of a boy who went to the stars, and to Mars. Fiction written as a child with a mind running wild.
Lost in the stories, tales of football helmets and pogo sticks, Taggart was pulled back to reality from a sharp pain in his foot. Looking down, he saw it was his combat boot. He'd kicked it without paying attention. But something sharp?
Bending down to inspect, Fly found a piece of metal lodged in the sole. Debris. Ripping it free, ready to toss it aside, the markings hit him like a brick. "No..." Wiping the metal, the torn fragment had lettering. Nothing he could read. Too angular to be any Asian characters, too unearthly to be Russian, too strange to be anything. No, not letters, just random markings.
No.
They were familiar. And it wasn't some old language he'd studied in school or some sign he'd seen on Phobos, but he'd seen it. Just now, he'd seen those letters.
Flipping through the journal, it was there, the answer. Here! The stories of the boy. A page dedicated to some odd language, some sort of alien code, and the book contained a guide.
"No... how the hell did some book he wrote as a kid have the same letters?" he asked, almost wishing someone would pop up and answer him. An imp in a smoking jacket would suffice, a friendly demon with the answers.
The 'standard galactic alphabet', it was called. Unusual... had this existed before the stories were written? Something he'd created as a boy and later used in life?
It made no sense...
Sleep was supposed to be a peaceful time. The body went into rest, the mind worked on some minimal level, allowing the body to process nutrients and regenerate from the long, tiring day.
Flynn Taggart found no comfort in sleep. The images in his head, the blood, the skulls, walls of skin and green brick, torches everywhere. His brief time in Hell was a dark spot in his being that would forever remain with him.
But the sounds. Screams. Demonic howling. The sound of fires burning.
It was the sound that awoke him. Movement outside. Taggart's mind remained alert, very alert, survival dependent on quick reaction. Gripping the plasma rifle, slow steps to keep silent, he moved, down the stairs, socks muffling his steps, quiet, like a panther, stalking the sound. He had it.
Kicking the kitchen door open, the face registered in his mind, a safety mechanism clicking into place, keeping his finger off the trigger. The plasma rifle could reduce a man into a spot of smoke in seconds, and it was fortunate that the Corporal retained enough sanity to thing before doing.
"You're not undead!"
"No, at least I don't feel it. Hey..." The stranger looked at Flynn with a sense of familiarity. "You're the Taggart kid!"
Fly knew this man, old, ragged, the stoner from down the street. The man he'd never known when he lived here, the man everyone avoided. "Terry Johnson?"
"Terence," the man corrected, "not Terry. Never Terry. I thought you were in the Army?"
"Marines," he grunted, showing his pride of military service.
Terry hadn't seen a living human in some time. "Everyone's gone. I don't know... I smoked some grass and woke up one day, and the world had ended. Just ended."
Fly mumbled angrily. "You're the only one left. Probably in the entire city."
"City? No..."
"NO? What's that supposed to mean?"
"That- that's the thing. See, I got a radio and I've been talking to some people from the UAC. Scientists," Terence explained, though Taggart could see the man was coming off a drug binge. Not that he could blame ANYONE for getting high in this world. "Y'see, the phones are down, there's no internet, no news net, but radios, see, I got one of them twentieth century radios from an old kit and some spare wire."
It was something. Not hope, but still, something. "Show me."
"Lord Baphomet..." The Spiderdemon greeted the wall itself, a massive stone skull with a pulsating brain. Tubes fed the organic tissue with blood, but the facade did not move. It did not need to move, for it was everywhere in Hell, watching and controlling from isolation. The room was lit by an unknown source, green stone stairs amidst a pool of blood, which oozed from the very walls. There were no doors, as only those deemed worthy by the devil himself may enter this place.
"How has the invasion of the living Earth realm proceeded?" a voice echoed.
The Spider Mastermind responded, "very well. The governments tried to fight back, but they have fared poorly. Some even begged for an alliance. Pitiful beings." Indeed, the thought of an alliance with the humans was laughable. It was simplicity itself to merely kill everyone as bodies could be re-animated and souls turned into an army of loyal soldiers upon their arrival in Hell. "We estimate three billion dead."
"Hardly half the overall population, correct?" the face commented. "No matter, this invasion is still underway. I expect at least another two million dead by the end of the week. Once the living population is sufficiently depleted, the portals may be opened to a far greater degree and the planet will become my domain."
"Yes..." The Mastermind's thoughts focused on the one human who had survived the initial invasion of the moons.
Baphomet could sense these thoughts as if they had been visually displayed to him. His minions were always under careful monitor. "The Marine. His lineage has been problematic to both of us in the past. Perhaps a priority should be placed upon eliminating Flynn Taggart. I do not wish to see this human interfering, considering the actions of his ancestors. They seem to be particularly able to defy the odds placed against them."
"Understood."
"One more thing..."
The Mastermind looked up. "Yes, Lord Baphomet?"
"I would give you this word of advice... it would be better for you for you to die by Taggart's hands than to come crawling to me with failure. If you fail me, I will remove from you the gifts I have bestowed."
Angered, the Mastermind simply replied, "understood." Walking away on gigantic piston-operated legs, the demon allowed hatred to build, bubble within. 'Yes, I know all too well what you do to those who fail, those who do not abide by the devil's wishes...'
Entering an open area, Hell's red skies burned above, the same light always visible with no change. "Commander!"
"Yes, my lord?" a lone Baron inquired.
The fleet was prepared. Large minotaurs armed with rocket launchers in place of hands and with legs like buildings were prepared to march. Floating red and brown orbs held position above the rows of leathery Imps. "Where are my clones?"
"The clones..." Hesitant, the Baron offered up, "my lord, we do not feel it is safe to use your clones."
Spiderdemon clones. The ones that resembled the Mastermind but lacked the intelligence. "Yes... unfortunately, they are quite stupid. Their needless habit of firing upon our own armies has proven to be an incredible setback and they have yet to kill the lone human survivor. Distribute them only to key locations where their weaponry may be paramount."
Responding, "Immediately, my lord," the Baron asked, "what of the others?"
"We shall send eighty percent of the waiting demons to the known hot spot locations. Moscow, Berlin, Tokyo." Were there any other such resistance cells to consider? "Yes, those three cities for now. The other twenty percent shall be distributed to the location known as Florida."
It was shocking, unthinkable. To send such a force to an otherwise barren place. "My lord, that area is all but cleansed. We would-"
"Do as I say!" Spinning the cannon as a gesture of threat, the Mastermind would offer no explanations to underlings nor allow them to question decisions.
"...very well," the frightened Baron of Hell relented.
He remarked, "failure is not a choice given to you this day."
The radio crackled and sparked, dead air the only signal. "Give it time," Terence said. "Always takes time for the signal to cut through the air."
Waiting, bored, frustrated, Taggart sat, holding the receiver. "This is-"
"...UAC operations. Please state your frequency designation!"
The signal was through. "Frequency designation? Shit, uh..." Fly didn't have a frequency designation to give. "This is Corporal Flynn Taggart of the USMC! Serial number 888-23-9912! Do you read?"
Static. More static. Finally, "we read you, Corporal. I'm surprised to learn any of the military are still alive."
"Been a long few weeks," Taggart responded.
"Corporal, the signals we transmit are-" Static again. "Corporal?"
He replied, "I'm here."
"As I was saying," the UAC voice continued, "our transmissions are intermittent at best. We can not risk being traced. I will give you coordinates where you can find us."
"Is that safe?"
The voice answered, "no, perhaps not. If we are overheard... but we're all sitting here, waiting to die. Either they will kill us or the food and water will run out."
Terence handed Fly a pencil, the Marine scribbling down the address. "Got it. I have a truck, I should be there within the hour."
"The hour?" The voice seemed to think Taggart was being generous. "That will be possible IF you do not run into any patrols. I'm afraid the demons are trying to kill off any survivors they can find, even in the dead zones."
Biting his lip, Flynn answered back, "I'm not letting them take me down that easy. Be there when I can." Pulling his pistol, Fly handed it over. "Keep that in case." a pocket of spare clips on the desk was his last gift before leaving.
Duty called.
The Earth would soon burn in hellfire. Countries had fallen, their challenge a mere nuisance to Hell's armies, trampling the bodies, crumbling the streets and twisting the landscape. Green grass was such a disgusting image to the demons. Burning rock, magma shining through the cracks, a much more fitting sight to behold.
Powerful piston-driven limbs carried the massive brain forth, their sounds echoing throughout the open canyons of Hell's expanse, as if to announce the Spider Mastermind's mere presence.
What had Satan himself done, anyway? The fool was merely as useless stone facade, a wall that never moved, never could move. It was HIS leadership that took advantage of the Mars teleportation experiments, HIS decisions to send Hell's legions through the gates, HIS choices that moved Deimos to Hell's surface and opened the portals to Earth.
The Earth would be a mere prize. No, that was not the real goal. It is one matter to rule the Earth, or what could be considered to be left of it when every last fleshy, living, breathing mass was exterminated and the traces of society removed from the very surface. But to rule Hell itself...
Baphomet was a figurehead, in every sense. He would face the great downfall eventually. The demons would no doubt follow an active leader, a conqueror, not the one who forced souls to stagnate in the fires of Hell, never to leave.
Green portals flared to life, deposing their transport close to the demon brain. "My lord, we believe this human has encountered the soldier," the Baron offered, reaching out a glowing hand to give the gift of a captive man.
"Really..." Body bending down on powerful legs, the small hands gripped onto the old man, beaten but breathing.
"You're not gettin' nothin' from me, ugly!"
Sharpened teeth cracked into a smile. "I will get plenty..." Firing every synapse within its massive structure, the Mastermind probed deep into their captor's very thoughts, his screams loud and dreadful as the mind probe caused such horrendous pain to the old man. "Terence... you do not have to tell me anything." Taking great joy in this torment, the Spiderdemon, hoisting the human aloft, explained cheerfully, "I will simply remove what I need to know. This will kill you and it will hurt. I, however, shall take great pleasure in your suffering. And when you are dead, your soul shall join my minions!"
Spitting a futile gesture, Terence mumbled, "go to Hell."
"My foolish prey," it responded, "we are already in Hell!" Keeping its glowing red eyes fixed upon the old man's face, in mere seconds, barely time for his victim to scream, a quick, loud pop rang out, brain matter escaping from the wound and spraying the ground. Tossing the remains away, a gigantic metal foot crushing it into meat, the demon smiled as a flame ignited in the air. Gleefully, the horned skull flew around.
"Welcome to my army. Listen to me, all of you!" Facing the vast legions under its command, the Mastermind ordered, "Flynn Taggart is on his way to a UAC facility. This human did not know where that is, but I do know that Taggart will be forced to pass trough the city nearby. I want every available soldier sent there NOW! Do not fail me! Taggart must be killed! Fail me and you shall be damned to the walls of torment!"
A wall of torment was the ultimate punishment, a stretch of screaming faces, forever frozen, souls unable to move or scream, unable to exist.
It was a threat worth taking seriously.
The military truck moved through empty city streets, the only one amongst countless vehicles to remain mobile. Twisted wrecks, abandoned cars, fragments of explosions sat in the streets, abandoned and forgotten as the people who drove them, owners and passengers, either fled or died.
This had an unfortunate negative side effect for Fly. Leaving this much wreckage and so many obstacles, finding a clear path was practically impossible. Walking would have been faster if not for his desperate need to transport weaponry. Though the gas gauge wavered, taunting, a bad sign that soon, he would have no choice but to walk. Walking could be fatal, however, as the open streets left room for an outward attack, unlike the corridors of the moon bases or the catacombs of Hell.
It may have been a stroke of luck that Orlando was already a shell, torn open by the demonic forces, no one left behind to attract attention.
Lost in thought was perhaps a terrible place to be as Flynn hit the brakes. "This is new," he muttered, a large lump of flesh stumbling from behind a burnt out delivery truck, screaming as it saw him. Lifting two powerful cannons, firing heated plasma, Taggart jumped clear as the driver's compartment of his truck was engulfed in flame, the seats melted into slag. Scrambling for the rear, jumping inside and kicking open the metal crates. Fly was able to grab only minimal supplies.
He could hear them, the crackling of small-scale teleports filling the air, his position soon assaulted by fire and bullets. Rushing into the old grocery store, taking cover, hoping beyond hope, the plasma gun raised, pellets of blue energy streaking through the air, their impact melting whatever they hit, the rotten skin of zombies smoking as the demonic flesh of Hellspawn burned away, demons crying in pain as their physical forms were ripped apart.
Slapping a fresh battery into the gun, Corporal Taggart knew that staying here was not wise. His location was known, position compromised, and any minute he would be overrun. Cut off from his weaponry, what little he had would have to serve as a means of survival. Combat was unacceptable. Sticking to the shadows, staying low, that would be his only way out of this nightmare.
The stomping, that horrifying stomping shook the walls. "Shit..." Searching the floors, pacing through and avoiding direct sight with windows, Fly only hoped for a basement entrance, a sub-level doorway. Anything to avoid the powerhouse outside.
Opening the hatch, climbing down, Fly wished that this basement only led into the underground maintenance networks. More importantly, he wished that the streets above remained strong enough to avoid collapsing under the weight of what walked above.
Smelling the air, the Baron was displeased. "The human must have found some sort of escape."
"Or he was never HERE!" an Imp shouted in anger, "it's not as if those worthless fat blobs can even see past their own fat faces!"
"Imp..." Gripping the leathery skull and twisting to the remains of the truck, the Baron remarked, "then where did that come from? Please, tell us, little fool! There must be some sort of underground tunnel system beneath this filthy human city!" The Cyberdemon peered around, only hoping for a fresh target. Impatient and filled with anger, the towering demonic goat only wished for the chance to destroy something. "YOU! Begin firing upon the surface! Perhaps we will be fortunate this day and the underground will collapse on this pathetic soul!"
Growling a cry of pride, the monster took aim, volleys of rockets slamming pavement, cracking the streets as debris rained down. "Use short range teleports to transport below. Any and all available infantry of smaller sizes!"
"But we don't know where to go," a lone Hell Knight protested, "if we teleport into a solid wall or a-"
Scratching the lesser demon, the Baron demanded, "if you fail it will be a far worse fate! Now do as you have been ordered!"
Below, in the darkness, Flynn Taggart fiddled with a set of darkness vision goggles, adjusting the light levels. The battery was low, only ten minutes of light before blindness. If only he had a working area map of these old tunnels. Fortunes had been strong enough to reveal a door into the city's maintenance network. Not quite the sewers but it would still offer some degree of passage.
Weaponry, however, was light. A single shotgun, a few shells, and his plasma rifle with only one full battery had been salvaged prior to his arsenal being reduced to ash. To make matters far worse, the tunnels shook with the echoes of explosions. No doubt the massive demon, a figurative building with legs, was pummeling the streets and he could hear the distinct footsteps far away. More of them were nearing this location.
It was unsafe by any definition of safety. Even if he could escape the tunnels, his armaments were so light that only a few of the monsters would fall before all hope was lost.
The haunting shriek of teleportation could be heard in the distance. They were in the maze with him now. Feet moving slowly, Fly almost tripped over a mass lumped onto the floor. Looking down, the Marine found what had been left of a body, the spikes a sure sign of one of the lesser Imps, impaled on what appeared to be a jackhammer.
No. Not a jackhammer, a chainsaw.
What a chainsaw was doing under the streets of Orlando, coated in the blood of one of the foul things, was perhaps a mystery that Flynn Taggart would never piece together. However, it was a great advantage. The plasma battery, despite being incompatible with his rifle, would power the saw for some time and the blade still felt sharp to the touch.
Such gifts often came with prices and this was a terrible price. The blade would make noise, as if he'd held up a sign for all to see and they would be on him. It might be useful in close-quartered combat but against projectiles or bullets, an ineffective show. Dropping it for a gun might complicate matters and the saw itself posed a severe risk of personal injury in the event he were to drop it or swing incorrectly, or be pushed, or any other circumstance that would cause him to meet the blade.
The growls moved closer. Closer and angrier. His blood was a priority target and Taggart could only place a strong bet that every last one of them had been given strict orders to kill him or to die trying.
Gripping the starter cord, his hand flew back, starting the blade.
"You have found him?"
Powerful legs traveling the giant green-stoned temple, the Spider Mastermind was drooling viciously. "Make sure he does NOT escape! No..." Turning to the lead Baron of Hell, it asked, "would you think it unwise if we used their own nuclear weapons? After all, what is one worthless city that we shall rebuild anyway?"
"My lord, that would be a great idea but..."
"But...?" Body twisting down, eyes glowing bright, it inquired, "what do you mean, you worthless underling?"
"I fear to report that the only human nuclear launch facilities that are still operational are near the Moscow region." The Baron was afraid. It know that telling his demonic overlord what it did not wish to hear was never a wise choice.
"MOSCOW? Did you brainless, idiotic cretins NOT consider what you were doing?" Stamping down a heavy leg, screaming, "incompetent, worthless... DO YOU NOT HAVE THE BASIC CAPACITIES FOR THOUGHT? You kill the living and keep what is USEFUL? GAAAHHH!" Racing along the stone floor of Hell, worn red rock crackling underneath the weight of the brain's mechanized body, it opened a pen containing numerous creatures, all similar to itself.
"Who is it?"
"WHO IS IT?"
The cries were far maddening, the Mastermind screaming out, "SILENCE!" In fear, the walking brains did as they had been ordered. "Take these and transport them into the city. That human is NOT to survive! Kill him! Mangle him! Keep him there until the missiles rain nuclear fire, I DO NOT CARE!"
One of the many Cyberdemons, suddenly wary of its master's behavior, inquired, "my lord, what of-"
"BE QUIET! You are an IDIOT! A FOOL! I was the one who allowed Hell to gain power, I was the one who gave you the gifts of modern science! I was the only one with the genius needed to plan this invasion,' it spat in fury, "and I will be DAMNED for eternity to see it fail because of one stubborn human that refuses death! Now, GO! Carry out my orders! I have much to plan and prepare for and I must NOT be disturbed!"
Fearful of retribution, the monster's underlings simply agreed, in silent nods, to do as they were told. Leading the spider brains into the massive dimensional teleporters, the legions of Hell returned to the Earth realm to do as told.
Shambling into a massive temple, ugly green marble stained with blood, the Spiderdemon opened a sliding wall. Within rested a single black object. Body flexing down on pistoned legs, collecting the tiny onyx trinket, the Mastermind recalled. Memories of wearing this in a past life.
"He is coming... they will not stop him, he is coming and he will kill me..."
Thrusting forth, the sputtering growl of spinning teeth tore into the Imp's chest, red life creeping from the wound. Kicking the torso free, Flynn Taggart swung again, the blade tearing through a neck of the undead, soft rotting flesh ripping as if it were nothing. Grabbing the fallen zombie's pistol and firing, two more of the brown demons fell as their eyes were perforated by heated metal.
Offering little room to move, the maintenance tunnels proved more of a hassle than a blessing. Dodging back, avoiding the raw teeth, Fly escaped the pink creature's bite by inches. Arms stuck, the beast unable to free itself, it would prove no further threat. This meant, though, that the passage ahead was sealed off. Another route must be found. A simple matter, really, to find an exit to the surface on the outer edge of the demon infestation above.
Simple, if not for blinding darkness, tunnels filled with the damned, and little means of defense. Stumbling around, pale light confusing his Marine senses, Taggart could feel nothing under his feet.
He fell.
Bracing for the sudden drop, the stop came almost instantly. He had stepped into an opened hatch, leading into a sub-tunnel. Kicking something heavy, Taggart dropped the blade, his hands instantly recognizing the light visor. 'Hope it's still good,' he thought, slipping it on and flicking the power switch.
The tunnel was a bright green now, light amplification at its finest. He could crawl through, unlikely to be followed. Throwing aside the chainsaw, checking his pistol clip, Fly crawled down, closing the sliding hatch. Easing through, careful to keep his noises to a minimum, knees rattling against the steel, the tunnel ended in a ladder not far from where Fly had entered.
Scattering up the rungs, into the next passage, Fly picked a right fork and continued along. A grating on the side revealed burning flames, their light flooding the passage. Ripping the light visor off, he could see a burning skull, roaming without direction. Easing quietly past the monster's sight, uncertain if it even had a sense of hearing, Taggart, pistol ready, ventured on.
Finally, an opening. The tunnel emptied into a main access point. Ears up, the Marine heard only minor noise above. Gently scaling the maintenance ladder, he hit the button to open the hatch. The visor clipped to his belt, he jumped free. UAC emblems plastered the walls and consoles, boxes and crates. Not far, he spotted two of the brown Imps, looking out into the streets. A garage, most likely.
Three opened barrels, tops glowing green, one Imp resting against the shiny cylinder. These had been a common sight on the Phobos moon base, and still plentiful in the remnants of Deimos. One bullet ripping into the metal, one heated bullet igniting the sensitive toxic ooze, it was a simple means to make an instant bomb when these barrels were in sight.
Being a UAC facility, weapons were likely. The green slime was a by-product of the plasma production process, not only used for energy but plasma gun ammunition. This was not the Orlando power plant, either. It had to be a weapon's depot.
Carefully sliding towards the main door, he knew that punching the door lock would mean sounding a subtle beep, alerting these foul things. Gun steady, two shots flew, impacting their target as the explosion rang forth, torn bodies shot out into the streets.
"What in the HEAVENS was that?" Attention turned to the scene, a Baron led its horde to investigate.
"Idiots were standing next to toxic barrels," the subordinate Hellknight reported. "Probably set them off with their body heat."
Stomping forth, thin body pale in the hazy sun, one demon saw the door closing. "I do not think so..." Raising its arms, glowing deep crimson, an unholy force caused one of the shredded corpses to rise, wounds sealed. "He is here..."
Within the warehouse, Fly opened door after door, room after room, searching for hope. "THERE!" It was a prize worthy of any survivalist. Plasma guns, batteries, and perhaps best of all, a BFG-9000, waiting to be tested.
Eagerly grabbing up whatever could be stuffed onto his web gear, fit into pockets, Taggart clipped two of the rifles to his back and loaded the behemoth. Exiting the room, the Marine could hear Hell's fury in the halls. They had found him.
Climbing stairs, the busted window was inviting. Perched at the edge, the torn streets below, he whistled out. Never one to allow the enemy a chance, Taggary squeezed the trigger, the tip warming, green glow tearing the sky. Impacting on asphalt, the giant orb exploded, shockwaves slamming the monsters around like paper dolls in wind.
"He's up there!" a Cyberdemon screamed out, roaring as rockets flew. Flynn knew better than to stand idle, feet racing to the steps. Dropping the BFG, his Plasma gun cracked to life, hot blue pulses ripping into the demonic spawn.
Kicking through the mass of bodies, onto the streets, now was the time to run. Survival mattered far greater than killing a few demon spawn.
"Ah," the calm voice cried, "you. Now, you die!" Raising its hands, the pale being glowed, a sphere of energy glowing in front of Fly's chest. Dodging to the side, he found the ball of light following. Jumping around the corner, he felt the explosion, but was spared the blast.
It seemed that the monster could not aim out of a line of sight.
Scanning for its target, the being sniffed the air. "Ah, there you are, now-" Blasts rocked the air, slamming into the walls, only singing the thin demon. "Incompetent brute!" it shouted in anger, turning towards the Cyberdemon. Glowing bright, the vile creature detonated an energy sphere at its accidental attacker.
"You little..." Having lost interest in the hunt, the massive demon aimed the giant cannon towards the pale entity, firing upon it.
Enraged at the display, the Baron in command ordered, "stop that! We have orders!" It received no answer, the two beings engaged in their argument of flame. "Idiots..." Hands glowing, the Hellbaron threw plasma at them both, the monsters responding by turning their anger at it now.
Tucked away in the safety of the alley, Flynn Taggart watched as, one by one, Hell's forces turned upon each other. Fire and bullets, claws and teeth, simple minds focused only on the immediate situation.
Racing out, looking for new cover, the chrome seemed to call to him. His own male instincts towards shiny objects of such nature were still operating. Like a gift, a motorcycle, relatively intact, sat against the remains of a burnt truck.
"Come on, come on..." The fuel battery gauge showed plenty of charge. "YEAH!" Clamping a hand on his mouth, still too late, an Imp spotted him. "Shit, shit..." Jumping on, kicking the starter, "come on, baby, start for Fly..."
The engine came to life. Hitting the gas, the blazing ball only missed Taggart's head by inches as wheels ran. Gaining speed through the maze of rubble, wrecked cars and bodies in the way, he saw a possible escape. A ramp, makeshift but a ramp nonetheless, Fly aimed the bike and raced. Into the air, over the destruction, wheels landed into a clear path.
Let the demons kill each other. He had places to be.
"He is coming and he will NOT be stopped!"
"Your fear is unfounded. This one man shall not stand before Hell itself!" Eyes glowing within the chamber, fluids pumped into the massive skull face, the very Icon Of Sin, the Lord Baphomet, saw no reason to show concern.
However, the Mastermind itself saw otherwise. "How can you ignore the lineage? You once had the world in your grasp as the Nazis conquered Europe. They would have moved outward to the rest of the world, even defeated Russia when the time came... but that was taken from you!"
"An inconsequence," Baphomet boomed, the deep voice shaking the chamber, blood falls splashing their red life fluids.
"You say that," the demon responded, teeth glowing in the haze, "but do not forget that it was only one man who defeated the mighty Adolph Hitler. And it was the descendant of that man who stood in my way! I was better than him in every way yet I still tasted defeat, at every opportunity, never once managing to stay ahead long enough to carry out my goals..."
Machinery working in the distance, the great voice called out, "that is the past. I only concern myself with what is now occurring. Ready your legions, if this human does visit our realm, he shall regret such a choice. He shall become one of us upon his death."
Turning towards the teleportation stone, all the Spiderdemon could think was, 'you say that now...'
Sputtering to a halt, the engines taxed from the hard ride, Corporal Taggart stopped at the entrance ramp. Smacking the buzzer, he awaited the answer. "I'll open the gate but hurry through."
Riding in underneath the metal door, closing shut behind, Flynn parked his ride, gathering his weaponry and heading for the elevators. Down into the lower levels, the sudden calm and quiet was almost strange to him. Why did he expect a trap? For those ready to greet him to be more zombies and imps?
Paranoia, likely. The elevator door opened to greet him with the sight of an actual person, the first he'd seen since leaving the suburbs. "Corporal. I see you made it safely. I'm Doctor Betruger."
"Any demons I need to know about in here?"
"No, it's rather calm and I intend to keep it that way," the scientist answered. "We have a radio field around the facility which seems to prevent their teleportation into our midst, at least it has so far... please, come with me."
Leading the Marine through the halls and into a meeting room, Betruger took a seat. "I believe I may have a theory as to this invasion. And I believe you may be a key part of this."
Taggart brushed aside the idea. "I didn't-"
"I don't mean to imply that you caused this," the doctor stated, "I mean that it may have to do with a relative of yours. Oh... what is that is your back pocket? Could it be..."
"This?" he said, pulling out his great grandfather's journal.
Betruger eagerly took the book away. "Yes... could it be?" Pulling the pages from his folders, the doctor found the torn stubs in the book itself. "What do you know of Bill Blaze?"
"Not much. Just that he wrote some stories as a kid and did some exploration later on."
"Stories... no. His tales were fantastic but hardly stories. You see, the planet of Mars was once capable of supporting life, until it was burned by some planetary explosion. Your great grandfather was telling the truth in these pages."
Pushing away his chair, Taggart muttered, "I'm leaving now."
"If you want to stop this then you have no time for arrogance! Russian launch facilities have already fired nuclear weapons on the city. They will be here in a few hours."
Slowly, Fly returned to his chair. "Go on..."
"We have a working teleporter on site. It can send one person but that is all we will have the power for. Any more and we will lose the radio field. Below us is a bunker that can withstand the blast, but our internal power source will expire in two days, leaving us no defenses and we do not know how these creatures will behave with radiation. This invasion must be stopped now!"
"And what's this got to do with all that old stuff?"
Betruger clarified, "Bill Blaze wrote of a boy named Mortimer McMire. He was what Bill described as... pure evil. We know that the invasion began on Phobos and Deimos, and it is likely that Mars itself shared similar gateways once. We believe now that Mars was burned by Hell. The pages I have told of McMire's death on Mars in that very cataclysm. I also know that one of the chief demons of this invasion is a massive entity. It looks like a brain on legs."
"I've killed a few of those," he shot back.
"One of the brown demons we captured told us everything. The ones you killed were likely copies. But we also know full well that McMire was intelligent. Do you see why we believe that the walking brain is in command?"
"So I kill the brain and this ends?"
Shaking his head, Betruger answered, "perhaps not. Mortimer McMire may be in charge of the invasion but never discount the devil himself."
Shrugging, Fly grumbled, "so I kill Satan? That sounds... simple."
"Hardly... but for now we have no other choice in the matter. Unless you wish to die without fighting." Betruger received no reply. "I thought not. Come, I will show you to our armory. Take what you can. You may be able to salvage extra supplies when you reach Hell, we have sent supplies and troops before. But you will be on your own. If you survive it will be your task to find a way home."
As the green haze vanished, Flynn Taggart found himself in the red mountains. Broken, bent trees with no leaves and odd spiky plants littered the grounds. The red sky seemed to absorb the mountains. Magma flowed in streams along the ground, skulls jutted out like rocks.
All Fly could think about were those missiles. Even if he succeeded here, his home city would be destroyed.
The point of entry was quiet but he saw no need to remain. Making sure the BFG was secured to his back, his shotgun and pistol clipped to the belt, helmet strapped down, the Corporal kept the plasma gun ready and made his way for the nearest buildings. If the UAC science people were correct, he should be near a key location. Pushing open an ancient wooden door, green stone walls awaited.
"He is here. Send everything we have at him! Make sure my copies are able to greet this fool. When this soldier has died, I want his corpse delivered to me."
"Yes, my lord!" the pink Baron replied.
The Mastermind gloated. No man, regardless of lineage, would be able to challenge Hell.
This was an impossible battle. Unwinnable. The courtyards, halls and towers were nothing but demons. Caves and ditches hid even more. His own weapon stocks were insufficient. Firing a burning plasma sphere, the BFG would at least clear the path but the few dead would hardly matter. Not even a full Marine Corps invasion could hope to handle this.
Pulling a door shut behind him, Fly threw away the helmet. Sweat had fogged up the visor and he could barely see through it anymore. It did little to keep out the smell of the air, the sulfur and rotting meat. Tossing open the cabinets and stone boxes hoping to find anything of use, the sight of a flashing red orb caught his notice.
Taggart had come across one before, on Phobos. It was an incredible artifact. The UAC had attempted research into invisibility tech but saw little real development for use beyond large scale applications. This glowing orb did what science had yet to learn.
It was not a perfect invisibility but it would be suitable. His body would leave traces, spots where the light was refracted poorly. Taggart was also fully aware that these monsters would fire upon any strange object, any sound he made. He also knew that they did not like being attacked, even by other demons, and they would fight each other with only minor provocation.
The door rattled. Touching the sphere, Fly's body vanished as an angered skeleton stumbled in. Looking around, seeing nothing, the beast was puzzled. Slipping by quietly, outside again, the Corporal fired his pistol into the air. It was sufficient. Rockets and fire aimed for the sound, others aimed for what they thought was a body seen in the distance. Such a devastating amount of Hell's fury was going to hit something.
Thsoe that took injury responded in kind, forgetting their orders and turning back, hoping to retaliate. Fire and rockets were returned. Running like mad, dodging those that were still searching for him, Corporal Taggart only fired his weapons sparingly to get attention. In minutes, half of these demons were fighting the other half.
It gave him some sense of fun to see a Mastermind copy dealing with a small mob of angered beings of various shapes, the chaingun tearing them apart one by one as its brain leaked blood from the torn wounds.
Arrogance came with a price. Screaming as a stray flame hit his leg, the cry of pain drew more attention his way. Hobbling along, ignoring the burning sense in his muscles, his body began to flash and solidify. The orb's power was fading and in seconds, he was a visible target. Flynn Taggart, leg almost numb now, pointed the plasma rifle and hit the trigger, striding like mad over the rocky terrain and racing for a temple opening.
Before the fires of Hell could finish their task, he saw the switch inside. Pressing the skull lever, a gigantic green wall slid upward. The Marine could hear missiles and balls of lightning slamming the other side, echoing through the twisted marble.
"Well... somehow, you have made your way past thousands of my legion. You continue to defy your own destiny of death. But now, you insect, you are in my hands."
"Ah, shit!"
The Mastermind smiled. "I could simply open that wall and allow them to deal with you. But you have angered me. Your death is mine to earn." Revving the massive gun, heated bullets flew forth, spraying like rain. Barely jumping out of the way, the BFG fell from his back, ripped to shreds in the fire. Ducking behind a pillar, Fly only winced in pain as the massive mechanical legs stamped the ground.
"You will die here! This plan of yours to defeat Hell has been a joke from the beginning. A joke I am sick of seeing! You have denied Baphomet's wishes and continued to evade your fate for far too long!"
Taggart needed time. He needed an advantage. "Shut up McMire!"
"That name means nothing to me!"
"I told you to SHUT UP, McMire! Or are you too stupid to do as you're told?"
Sharpened teeth chattered in a rage. "That boy no longer exists! That boy could not even destroy one simple world. I have brought Hell to Earth!"
"You're a big idiot, you know that?" he screamed, racing for the next pillar. "You got yourself killed so you could play servant boy to the devil! Some genius! If you're so smart why aren't you in charge?"
"I am the genius! I am the grand intellect!"
Anger was powerful but it could also blind one. "I'm sorry, I thought you were the Gannalech? That's what my great grandfather's journal called you!"
"Do not call me THAT!" the brain screamed in rage, firing steadily at the pillars.
He shouted back over the gunfire, "why not? It's your name!" No answer, merely screams. Taggart had the boy now. Even as a demon, Mortimer McMire was still an angry child. It was only now he noticed the rocket launcher, still held by the hand of the last owner. That's all there was, a hand. Tossing the body part free, checking the chamber, the Corporal found three rockets still loaded.
The spider brain's cannon was powerful. That was evident from the damage observed at the base of these pillars. Pits in the stone, cracks at the base, certainly that was enough to cause one of these towers to fall if only one was hit with a solid impact. Picking up a chunk of rock, throwing it towards the wall, Fly tricked his nemesis into turning away. Firing yet again in a futile effort, it could not hear the rocket being fired. By the time it noticed the falling pillar, the Mastermind's front legs had been crushed under the rock, pinned down, gun flattened.
"NO! I can't move!"
"Then you're not a threat to me. Goodbye, moron."
Breathing heavily, the spider brain screamed in anger, "this is not over. Do you believe that leaving me here ends this? Baphomet still commands Hell. Baphomet still reigns over your world."
"If I had enough ammo I'd kill you right now. But I think leaving you here might be worse," Fly gloated. "Think a way out of this one if you're so smart! I have to go see the devil."
Singed flakes of green cloth fell away as the Marine trodded through the halls. Burning pain tore through the muscle, the wound only growing worse with each step putting pressure against the burn. Eventually, Flynn Taggart would be unable to walk.
This fact was only further compounded by the fact that the only way to the surface from here was a long, spiraled stairway lining the circular pit. Clipping the rocket launcher to the back catch on his armor, shotgun loaded, Fly began the lengthy walk. Only a few steps upward, the floor pressed in beneath the heavy boot. A rumbling filled the air, and it was soon apparent that the bubbling pit of lava in the center was rising.
"Shit..."
The choice of a wounded leg or being burned alive was a choice that didn't seem very fair to Taggart. Rushing upwards as fast as possible, the leg burn now bleeding heavily as the skin tore itself open, a green flash upwards signaled the sudden appearance of a new obstacle. "I don't need this," he grumbled as the pink demon raced towards him. Raising quickly, the magma showed no signs of slowing it's crawl.
Killing the demon wouldn't help as he'd have to climb over the body and a torn up leg wasn't suitable for the task. Gripping the gun's barrel firm, swinging with well-planned aim, Fly cracked the monster across the face, the blow stunning the demon. In its daze, the pink creature walked off the ledge, screaming as liquid rock burned it away.
It was a move that bought him time, certainly, but a costly one. The shotgun was broken. He's taken the risk of an accidental discharge. And if another demon was in is way, he'd be trapped. Tossing the broken weapon aside, pulling the standard issue pistol, Flynn Taggart ignored the throbbing muscle pain and ran. Upwards to freedom, upwards from the fires, he ran. Minutes felt like hours but the top approached. Sliding the door open to freedom, the wary soldier slid the wooden door shut behind, thinking, 'just hope that lava stops soon, this might not keep it out...'
The will wanted to continue but the body was worn. Dropping to the ground, his leg now numb, Flynn couldn't walk any further. His toes wouldn't even move. Standing was now impossible. Was this how it ended? The Mastermind was pinned, but still alive. The devil himself was out of reach. The Marine had become too confident for his own good.
Perhaps by chance, he'd noticed that one of the lights in the hall was different. The torches gave off a red glow but a flash of blue seemed to blink from a spot in the wall. Crawling to the cracked brick, finding the wall loose in that spot, Fly wiggled bricks loose and threw them aside.
Salvation.
Maybe it was luck. Maybe some force had called him to this place. Whatever the reason, the glowing blue sphere was like the one he'd seen on Phobos long ago. Wasting no time in touching the magical object, a rush of energy flooded every cell in Taggart's exhausted body. Feeling more alive than ever, no longer held back by injury, the determined Marine picked himself up and ran forth.
Opening into a larger room, the hall ended it's path. It took little to recognize the scene. Armored soldiers slain and dumped, their gear piled carelessly. It was a weapon's stash but one marred by death. Sifting through, collecting whatever he could carry, a sudden anger welled up inside.
Grabbing a heavy steel rod, the Marine's muscular arms swung at a decorative skull. Pieces of bone took to the air as Taggart's wrath aimed at torches, wall scrolls and paintings. It was medieval, all of it and Flynn Taggart hated medieval works, especially the Dark Ages. He hated this place, he hated this invasion. The fury now calm, dropping his tool, the room was torn to pieces. Defiled. The same as they had done to his home.
Green. That was all he could see as the room changed. What was once a small room to dump bodies was now an opened hall. Green slime trickled down the walls and the gigantic skull in the center of it did not look very friendly.
"This quest of yours ends now. I shall deal with you personally!" a powerful voice echoed.
"The devil himself... what makes you think you can do any better? You're stuck in the past! I don't need magic or sorcery to kill you. You might glue a rocket launcher onto some monster of yours but you're still in the Dark Ages! Humanity changed. You can't win this."
Swinging forth, gigantic hooks ripped open the skull, exposing a burning hell fire. Deep within the mind of Baphomet, steel boxes began to fly, calling upon the demonic hordes one by one. Soon, trapped in the middle, Taggart shouted out, "so maybe I underestimated this... Semper Fi."
Challenging such a gathering would be pointless, but none had attacked yet. The demons waited for their master's orders. Fly had no need to wait, no master to obey but himself. Lifting the rocket launcher tube and firing a volley into the opened brain, he'd somehow wished that the soft inner tissue might be vulnerable, if the flames didn't burn the rockets first.
The air became a symphony of screams. Baphomet wailed as missiles ripped apart the inside of his skull and demon soldiers could not focus as their minds scrambled. The telepathic bond that Baphomet used to give orders seemed to channel the pain it felt. Reloading the chamber and firing again, bodies fell all around him, the mental feedback killing every demon that seemed linked to Baphomet. Shattering and crumbling, the massive skull form reduced to mere rock, leaving a gaping hole in the face of Hell.
Free now to leave, sloshing through the slime and over the bodies, through the cavernous bone and burnt brain tissue, Flynn Taggart wondered if the devil was genuinely dead. Had it really been this easy?
Onto a stone pad, carried away in green light, he found himself near McMire. Still pinned underneath the pillar, the brain seemed to be whining. "He's dead. Your army is dead."
"Perhaps it was good of me to block Lord Baphomet's mind or I may be dead too. Help me... I can't move from here."
Shrugging, Fly asked, "where's the way back to Earth?"
"I shall show you once you release me!"
"HOW?" Taggart knew better. "You can't walk. Tell me."
"Very well... a monument half a mile east is where we store the main portal that is now opened to Earth. Now get me out of this!" it screamed, angered at the situation.
Spinning on his heel, the Marine merely said, "burn in Hell."
Watching his only salvation walking away, Mortimer McMire screamed in anger, "you promised! Free me now! Please... I'm lonely and I can't move. I don't know what to do..."
Blue skies and cool wind felt good. But with this return was an uncertainty. Where was he and what of the demons still on the planet? Walking through the grass fields, the fallen bodies told him the story. The same that had happened to the demons in Hell happened right here. The death of Baphomet had killed any under his command.
WELCOME TO BOISE was the first sign he saw near the highway. If one small miracle had taken place, it was that he was in his own country. The long walk into the city center was uneventful. No people, no monsters, no working vehicles. Breaking into an electronics store, Fly was pleased to learn that the city's power plant was running. Working a stereo in some desperate attempt to hear something good a desperate attempt to hope that this radio could pick up national broadcasts, the first news was grim.
Orlando was destroyed. It was expected, really. The nukes had been falling before the journey to Hell but it was still one that hit hard. His own childhood home was gone.
"What do you MEAN you're going to teleport out?"
"That's exactly as I mean it, Corporal!" Malcolm Betruger was clear in his plan. "Now that we no longer need the RF shield to block short-range teleportation of the demons, we plan to use the remaining energy to transport to Hell and return through the portal you used."
"It should be safe. It's about two miles from where you'll arrive, can you make it on foot?"
"Us science geeks aren't totally helpless. We can walk that far. With no demons left the trip should be uneventful," Betruger replied.
Taggart answered, "I'll meet you... wait. I don't know if you'll even end up here. It might be a random teleport!"
"Anything is better than sitting in this bunker until the radiation levels fall. Now then, we're off. Wish us luck!" The radio went silent.
Tossing aside the receiver, Flynn Taggart decided to hunt for food. The rush from the sphere was wearing off and it'd been some time since a proper meal had been eaten. Pushing through the streets, past bodies and bones, briefly he'd contemplated how one of the pink demons might taste if properly cooked.
Breaking into a restaurant, the smell of rotting meat was overwhelming. This wouldn't do at all for the weary soldier. Finally locating a proper grocery outlet, canned goods would be a safer bet for food. Ripping open canned meat and eating as much as he could, the Marine slumped down.
This war was over. The world would heal in time. If only he lived long enough to see that day. The irradiated zones were lost and despite modern cleanup methods may remain uninhabitable.
Hell had come to Earth and left behind the mark of the beast.