Massacre. Slaughter. Carnage.
Those three words could be used as words to define one single thing: the killing of large swathes of people.
Later they found out that, out of a total of the four thousand people aboard the ship when she sailed from a port in Australia, four hundred passengers of all nationalities and crewmembers alike had been ruthlessly murdered as it approached Seattle.
Just because they had 'supposedly' defiled the ocean.
Unlike most, however the perpetrators of the massacre did not come out of the ordeal unscathed. As a matter of fact, most of them didn't get out alive.
Because it turned out that the atlantean attackers, in an ironic turn of events, had been butchered like sheep, just like they had done to the people onboard the Voyager.
Only, their deaths had been much more... graphic, to say the least.
The Voyager of the Seas was once again teleported, this time to a harbor in San Francisco, one of the many where an assorted force of several branches (in this case two destroyers, four cutters, a gunship squadron and an entire division of the National Guard) was waiting to take down the terrorists, in the very, very slim chance Doom Slayer hadn't taken them out.
The assembled sailors and guardsmen waited in trepidation as their superiors called the invaders. Their warnings and threats quietened when they hear the stomps of something making its way to the upper deck of the liner. Their apprehension and fear faded when they saw what was making that sound.
It was Doom Slayer, who carried something on his arms, something that none of them had ever wanted to see in their lives.
The bodies of two dead children. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that someone had strangled them, then snapped their necks with inhuman strength.
The giant of a man carried the little bodies like they were the most fragile thing in the world, and then laying them in front of the horrified, disheartened soldiers with the upmost care. He kept doing this for half an hour, and with the aid of both National Guard, Coast Guard, and Navy personnel, they managed to bring out all the dead on the ship, so that they could be inspected, and then sent back to their homes to receive their funerary rites by Doom Slayer himself.
Those who received him and the remains of their loved ones couldn't help but not how silent he was. Many of them already knew that the soldier was a man of few words, but they expected him to say something, anything as a condolence. But he never said anything, not a word, only a glance that could only be described as sorrow, shame even, before entering the portal and leaving as fast to continue his disheartening work.
But that show of respect towards the deceased, of kindness, was... juxtaposed, for lack of a more fitting word, with how he brutally killed thirty eight nearly human beings with extreme prejudice, with both weapons he had not been seen using before (including firearms and, by the state of several corpses, a chainsaw of all things) and his bare hands, and mutilated the remaining thirteen. Several guardsmen threw up when they saw his handiwork before they began cleaning it up, some grabbing limbs and pieces with their hands, others moping the blood. The Voyager of the Seas would be refurbished and turned into a memorial for the fallen.
A few, however, wished they could just burn down the ship and let it sink to the depths of the Pacific, not because of the horrors they had found, but out of spite to the terrorists and their precious ocean.
Some of those wanted THAT and to put depth charges, just to spite them more.
Predictably, when the news of Doom Slayer's actions came out, some called him a monster, a villain who had been waiting to finally kill people at his leisure, some doubting his claims of coming from another Earth, and some even claiming he was preparing to invade Earth, just like it happened two years prior.
Had they seen the slaughter itself with their own eyes, rather than just the aftermath their cries would have been harder, but they hadn't, and so they kept crying their outrage, their fears of Doom Slayer turning his rage towards them.
Others, however, still saw in Doom Slayer a hero, despite his brutality; 'remember', they said, 'that he has only done so because the hijackers killed people. Not all heroes have the patience of Superman'. All that said, they still were unnerved by the sheer brutality of his kills, believing that Doom Slayer should have dispatched them more humanely, instead of using weapons that literally blasted them apart and reminding them that the strength to support a building could be used to rend a man limb from limb like a child pulling a fly's wings.
A few of them yet saw in him a true hero, one willing to tackle the root of a problem, to cut its knot, without caring about the public outrage: kill the villains dead before they killed more innocents. Others, while not happy with his actions, defended him nonetheless, pointing out that had he done nothing not only would have more people been killed, the terrorists would have also gotten away with it.
Like doctor James Foster, a famous psychologist and supporter of the death penalty when it came to certain elements that went too far with their actions, to the point many people called him (first to mock him, then to respect him) Cato the Newer for a phrase he was fond to shouting when discussing a certain asylum from a certain city: Arkham Must Be Destroyed! He always insited that the building and the institution, not the people inside, were the ones that should be destroyed, but given the backstories of its most famous patients, many thought otherwise.
Didn't change the fact he was always collected and composed when voicing his opinion, just like he was doing when he was invited to Metropolis' premier talk show, unlike his current rival, psychiatrist Bartholomew Wolper.
And it didn't help that James himself wore an inmaculate corduroy jacket, whereas Wolper wore a Superman T-shirt of all things.
"That madman's a killer!" Wolper exclaimed once more, after discussing Doom Slayer's actions for fifteen minutes with Foster.
"You said it yourself, Wolper: he's a killer, not a murderer." James shot back as he leaned on his chair.
"Is there a difference?! Both involve the deliberate extinguishing of lives!"
"Of course there's a difference you stupid lout!" Foster yelled back, slamming his armrest as he did so. "One's deliberate, unlawful killing, the other is the act of killing, and sometimes is lawful!" Foster then chuckled. "Hell, not only did he say he's a soldier, it's right there in his name, Doom Slayer! And all he did was slaying a group of criminals that have caused the deadliest mass killing ever since Superman spearheaded that invasion! And THAT was an actual war done by an invading force, not an act of terrorism done by forty, maybe fifty water-breathing gunmen from R'lyeh!"
"Superman was not himself then when he led those monster here!" Wolper countered. "Doom Slayer most definitely was when he butchered those people without pity or remorse! And they were not from some city made up by a bigotec lunatic, they were atlanteans!"
"And? I'm fairly certain that the military would have shot them too had they been able to do so."
"This does not change the fact a supposed hero who until know had deceived us, killed fifty people instead of just taking them in!"
James, however, refused to let him have the last word. "Those murderes acted with murder, Doom Slayer reacted with slaying. Exactly as the most ancient law of all dictates, the one even animals follow: you hurt me, I hurt you. As simple as that." He said with a finishing tone that left no room for comebacks as everyone around the room discussed and Wolper screamed about the stupidity Foster spouted.
When it came to other heroes, their opinion about Doom Slayer was too polarized.
Clark Kent, of course, was horrified by the butchery he commited to the atlanteans... but as much as he wanted to, he could not be angry at Doom Slayer. He remembered what VEGA had told them, that Doom Slayer was a soldier: his utmost duty was to kill the enemy if it meant saving innocents and keeping the peace. Besides, Doom Slayer had done a lot of good before, and in practice, this too was an act of good when it came down to it... just a very extreme one. Plus, he did show mercy to those that surrendered, although at the cost of marking them.
And killing armed criminals was still nowhere as bad as spearheading an alien invasion to ravage Earth, hypnosis or not.
Still, understanding his reasoning didn't mean he was happy with Doom Slayer's actions. He only hoped, prayed that this would be the last time the soldier from another dimension decided to cut loose.
Central City's local hero, the Flash, was too understanding. After all, even though in his 'civilian' identity he was a forensic scientist, he was still part of the police: sometimes they had to use lethal force to save lives, although fortunately this was a rare occurrence thanks to him being, well, the Flash.
And just like Clark, he still didn't like the killing, mostly because he had been told that what the cleaners found inside the ship was essentially the most gruesome snuff film made real.
"I mean, can't say what he did was exactly wrong, he didn't kill all of them. But..." The scarlet hero said as they asked about his opinion in the matter of Doom Slayer, trailing off before shuddering. "Haven't seen the pictures, and to be honest I don't plan to, but I've heard they needed mops to clean the mess up. Mops. And that he apparently used a chainsaw. Jeez." His sentiments were shared by many others, who believed that, at the very least, Doom Slayer could had been a bit more... clean, and painless, when it came to killing.
Bruce Wayne publicly decried Doom Slayer's brutality and the fact he had killed people when there was the option of dispatching them without lethal force, while making a plan under as Batman for when the soldier decided to turn his wrath towards those he deemed worthy of death, not caring if he actually ended up doing so.
Many others, however, decided to forget about Doom Slayer altogether, since him killing the Red Trident only proved he was an ally as far as they cared, and focused on the terrorists, the so-named 'Red Trident', and the fact they came from below the waves. What else did hide below? Would there be more attacks? Was this in fact a well-disguised probing operation? Sea monsters from ancient times and who fed on human flesh?
They did not know, and as the saying goes, people feared what they didn't know.
"We don't know how many of those bastards live down there! There could be thousands, maybe even millions of them waiting for us to make a mistake!"
"We must invade them before they do it first!" The bloodthirsty screamed
"Even if they don't want to fight us, we need to know what the hell do the atlanteans have down there! Their technology level is higher than hours, but the Red Trident's actions have proved they're not any better! And their king has done nothing yet to prove that he has nothing to do with this despite his past actions!" The cool-minded pointed out.
The only reason even the more level-headed authority figures didn't consider a military intervention? The King of the Seven Seas himself, called both Orin and Arthur Curry, going to the United Nations building alongside Doom Slayer and , wanting to open relations between his kingdom and the rest of the planet to repair the rift the Red Trident had made before things could become worse.
That, and a recording of the monarch punishing the Red Trident's leader by shooting him with Doom Slayer's own weapon, with clear anger in his eyes. Even the hardliners had to admit he could not have a hand in the terrorists' actions if he could do that to their leader and care not about their deaths.
Many people accepted this mere act of diplomacy as a sign that Doom Slayer was, indeed, a good man at heart, but even this action didn't change the fact he had killed in a world where the mighty didn't use their gifts to slay the weak, even those with black hearts.
There was fear in the criminal underworld, fear that they might draw the rage of Doom Slayer and end up just like the Red Trident. Thieves, muggers and white-collar criminals were confident they were safe, since they thought the soldier wouldnt come after simple lawbreakers like them; most assassins and other 'businessmen' whose 'jobs' involved killing, however, began fearing for their lives, aside from one or two who wanted to test themselves against him
Except, surprisingly enough, the famous Deathstroke the Terminator.
"No way I'm going against that." Slade Wilson said outloud when he was approached for a job, not bothering to look at the contractors while lifting weights. "I'm not going to risk it against someone with that much strength and armor. Not even for every damned ingot in Fort Knox. I know when to fold it. Ask a dumber, suicidal man."
Organizations centered around heroes, villains and metahumans in general began gathering everything they knew of him and making plans, some to bring them to their side, others to destroy him before he destroyed them, and one to merely understand his mentality and why he acted like that.
Those who cleaned up and investigated the ship found stuff that revealed more about what happened there, specifically how Doom Slayer killed the Trident, and with what: spent cases and shells, both of incredible size, alongside large-caliber rounds and flechettes found around the ship, all of them covered in blood. It seemed that Doom Slayer was also a user of more conventional weaponry despite initial thoughts.
Incidentally, several pieces of evidence were taken in by a mysterious source.
And that was just what Doom Slayer left: the Red Trident's defeat had left dozens of energy weapons around, water-plasma plasma rifles, that could be reverse-engineered and modified, and suits that would allow them a greater insight into Atlantis' metallurgy, especially since king Arthur told them they could do as they pleased with it, one of the many reparations he offered for the tragedy.
Except for one: an afro-american scuba diver and part-time engineer from Baltimore by the name of David Hyde, whose family had been on the Voyager when it returned from Australia. All he saw were the weapons that had been used to cave his wife's head in, and carbonize his son. All because someone couldn't bother to throw their glass on the proper bin, or pissed on the water.
As he tinkered with the rifle a friend of his had snatched from the ship, all he could think of was the pain he felt when Doom Slayer returned him his family's bodies, the man himself giving him one last glance before leaving as he came, the cries of his relatives during the burial, him contemplating suicide because his family had been his life...
Three days after the funerals, after crying and blaming himself for agreeing to let them go on a tour around the world, David recovered from self-pity... but only because it was turned to rage.
"Those monsters... those freaks..." He muttered with seething hatred as he began his work, remembering the smashed bodies of his wife and son, and the fact that there could be more of those Red Trident bastards down there. But how many were down there? Dozens, hundreds, thousands? Did Doom Slayer get them all? Were all atlanteans as hateful for humanity as the Red Trident had been?
Because if they were, David had the solution for that: he'll go to wherever Atlantis was, kill as many atlanteans as he could, and let whatever sea deity they worshipped sort them out. He would kill every last fishy bastard he could get his hands on for their sins, even if that meant drawing the wrath of Doom Slayer upon himself. Avenging his family was worth angering a god in human skin.
'They will pay... They will ALL pay!' David screamed in his mind as he continued forging.
He wasn't the only one.
..........
Batman's reaction was obvious, but did I write the rest right? I mean, they know DS is a soldier who carries lethal weapons and who's willing to use said lethal weapons. Was making them understanding of the slaughter but unnerved nonetheless the right call? I mean, the Red Trident beated people to death, and they enjoyed it, and they don't have the excuse of being literal space demons and evil gods like the apokoliptians do, and their real excuse still doesn't... excuse their actions. Also, sorry if the chapter is too narrative heavy for you guys. As for the full consequences of the Red Trident attack and Atlantis, those will be explored in next chapter.
As for why did I write the SI going back to the Voyager even though in the last chapter he went back to the Fortress of Doom to prepare for the shitstorm that was coming, it was mainly to clean himself up of blood: didn't want to make the wrong impressions when returning the dead
InquisitionAI said:
Did... you not read 3/4 of my post? I literally spelled out the exact reason why Superman wouldn't want to go Full Powah all the time.
He is a (metaphorical) God living in a world of Paper, the slightest mistake in strength control could shatter every bone in a person's body. He doesn't want to kill people and being seen delimbing a Villian is horrible for PR.
And, to use a completely OOC reason, he is here to be a foil for DOOMSLAYER, there needs to be someone who shows that DS could, if he ever desired to, be able to fight crime without being brutal.
Yeah, sorry for not replying, I was answering other post. It was a... correction of your statement: normies get their everything shattered if they're lucky, not just the skeleton.
As for Superman being a foil for Doom Slayer, yup! One refuses to kill even the worst elements of humanity (although more than willing to let the authorities do so), the other will not suffer evil to live, or at least the evil that everyone agrees must leave.
And for those who might be zombie scholars, you might now who Foster is, where's he from, and have an idea of why did I use him.
Last edited: Aug 30, 2021
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Stupid the Ork
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Never enuff Dakka
Sep 3, 2021
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#295
So... it went better than I expected. Much better, in fact: many people actually understood my actions, and surprisingly many heroes were among them, Clark included. Sure, there were the naysayers, but those were actually rather few, at least when taking into account those with genuine concerns and fears about me and not those who simply didn't like gun-toting heroes that could also benchpress tanks and had no moral compunctions about using both to take out criminals permanently.
And then, of course, there was Bruce.
I don't have to tell you what he felt about me the moment he found out about the massacre I pulled out, you already know. Weird, since I had yet to even go to Gotham (YET), but then again, he did have contingencies in case that, say, Superman went rogue again, his real identity were to be find out (Knightfall Protocol from Arkham Knight), or Joker became a god.
As a sidenote, he managed to yoink several bullets and shells from the Voyager, something that I expected of him. I mean, it wasn't like he could build a powered armor/mech to fight me, no amount of metal would save him from being ripped apart under a hail of 15mm tungsten rounds.
And no, that was not part of the altercation we had, be patient!
So, after stopping the Red Trident, giving the victims the respect they deserved, and helping smooth things out between Atlantis and the rest of the planet, what did I do?
Patrol New York to gauge the people's reactions to me after the clusterfuck of the last week and because I really had nothing else better to do at that moment. I mean, there couldn't be high-end crimes or natural disasters every damn day, don't you think?
Also, New York. Just New York. Did you know that Central Park here is a full-on zoo? And that someone, for some reason, made a life-size statue of Superman in Bronx?
So, there I was, the Doom Slayer, walking down Times Square under a sunny sky, bystanders either looking up at my huge form from afar or stepping back as I walked across streets, most of them staring at me like I was Robocop or Judge Dredd instead of Spawn.
This had the unexpected effect of drawing the attention of people who shouldn't had been distracted from what they were doing, specifically a young mother pushing a stroller with a baby on it, the woman being somehoww too distracted to remember she had been crossing the street. Many of the drivers were too busy looking at me to drive, but it wasn't them who supposed a problem: it was an armored van speeding from Midtown whose passengers and co-driver were exchanging fire with three pursuing cop cars, pushing smaller vehicles aside as it went that did.
Yeah, the driver saw the two standing right in the middle of the road didn't care about what he would have done.
Yes, I just said 'would have done'.
Runaway van, distracted woman and child, space marine mere yards away from them... You know what it led to.
The mother only had time to hear the vehicle speeding at her at a hundred miles per hour and look at that direction before I jumped in between and braced myself, stopped the van cold, and stomped on the engine for good measure.
Incidentally, the codriver didn't have the seatbelt on, so you had the image of a balaclava-wearing gunman flying and screaming like a bitch before crashing his head against a pole. Goddamn hilarious, but I hadn't been paying attention to that.
"Watch both sides before you cross, ma'am." I told her, trying to channel my inner Spider-man. After all, when in New York...
"I-I'm actually single, but thanks for the advice." She stuttered.
"Miss, then." I then turned towards the stopped van. The robbers, being of the smart sort instead of their fellows from Metropolis and Gotham, didn't even bother to shoot at me and dropped their guns before stepping out of the vehicle with hands raised and kneeling on the ground. The officers that had been chasing them inmediatly set to apprehend them, while one of them approached me.
"Thanks for the help Doom Slayer." He said
I merely nodded at him before returning to my patrolling amidst the applauds of several people. That was good, knowing that some people still liked me despite being a (successful) Punisher reenactor. "VEGA?"
"Nothing to report Slayer." He then stood quiet for a second "Warning, Clark Kent is approaching from above."
"Speed?" I knew he wasn't even angry at me, and to be honest I had anticipated that Clark would want to talk to me, but I still wanted to know if he was in a hurry or something; he may have wanted me to help him in something, after all.
"Four knots."
Yep, just wanted to talk with me.
I nodded at VEGA's response as I walked. I knew what he wanted to talk about.
"You came quickly." I said outloud without bothering to look up, knowing he was hearing me.
"You know the saying, faster than speeding bullet." I heard him say as he came closer.
"Why are you here."
"I was in New Jersey dealing with Livewire, and heard a portal of yours opening. "Clark said as he landed next to me. "I saw what you just did Doom Slayer. Nice to see you're willing to do small things from time to time."
"Big problems that would require my intervention are low for now. Wanted to make myself useful." I replied as we walked down the street, the small crowd that had been formed before growing steadily because it wasn't every day that they got to see not just the Man of Steel, but also the world's newest and now most infamous hero chatting on Times Square. "Want to talk about my actions back at the Voyager."
He nodded "Kind of, but not about the the fact you killed them. I realized a long time ago that some people just have it coming, and I'm sure you know that." Clark then sighed. "It's just... how you did them. Well, that and another thing: certain people are worried about, well, you being so powerful yet also willing to kill." And with 'certain people' he meant, of course, Bruce Wayne, although he wasn't the only one: the opinion that many people in the press, the goverment and the military had gotten worse when they caught wind of my actions, but fortunately they didn't have much sway in things.
"I don't care for what the paranoid, the overzealous and the insane believe of me."
Clark just frowned "They're not without reason, you know: they fear you could end up killing someone, someone innocent. I mean not deliberately, obviously" He hurried to say when I looked at him, believing he had offended me. He hadn't, but his words made me think, not just about collateral damage but also because of the fact he seemed wary of me. Superman. That... was actually not that good, when you think about it. ", but by accident."
"How so? I'm a very accurate when it comes to shooting things with heavy ordnance."
"I've seen the reports; you have at least two shotguns which fire what are for all intents and purposes artillery shells, two high-caliber machine guns, there's also your plasma gun, that blade on your wrist, explosives, a flamethrower, a freezing weapon, and a chainsaw of all things." He listed, even using his fingers to point it out. "That's a lot of firepower, you know. It makes people uneasy, unease makes them think and then believe things, and... well, I think you know how it plays out. And it's not just some government officials and general Rippers who don't like that."
I stopped when I heard that, and sighed. As much as I wanted to just ignore his words, Clark was right, the big cheese that knew more were understandably wary of me having an entire arsenal on my person and being able to put it out in a single second, not just me willing to use said arsenal.
Plus, he wasn't just talking about merely important people, but also other heroes: while many didn't see me as a monster, the only ones that were openly sympathetic to me could be counted in one hand, and remember, the League had yet to be formed. Something told me they needed more reassurance than just being told 'I'm good at avoiding collateral damage'.
And that was just their feelings towards my 'normal' guns. If (or rather, when) they discovered I had a semi-automatic rocket/missile launcher, a railgun that could defeat any and all armor made on Earth, and a plasma cannon whose power was measured in the tons even on the lowest setting, before I could explain myself, they would surely freak out. This being DC, that would snowball into something very, very bad, to put it lightly. Therefore, I had to do something. I wasn't going to tell them about my big guns yet of course, but I could start with something simple, to prove my sincerity, so to speak.
So, I decided to do something none of you might have expected from me.
I removed my helmet. In public, right in view of a growing crowd, showing everyone what I looked like, which was basically a big, bearded strongman.
Yeah, I just pulled out an Iron Man, but to be fair I had been planning on revealing my face for a while after realizing the 'secret idenity' crap was simply not for me. I mean, unlike Clark or Bruce, people would realize that the over seven foot tall, overmuscled motherfucker who, to use it as an example, runs that hot dog stand around that corner over there is in fact the alter eg of the Doom Slayer. They might have been able to pull the 'acting different and wearing something else as a disguise' schtick, but I just couldn't. Another reason was that, if I showed my real identity to not just him but the entire world, people would find me, ridiculous as it sounds, 'trustworthy'.
Another, another reason was that I wanted to look at Clark in the eyes when I spoke instead of through a faceplate with the HUD around it. It was already awkward being more than a foot taller than him, and for some reason I couldn't shut the damn thing off.
"Superman." I said to the surprised kryptonian "Do you, and the others, really believe I won't be able to distinguish between the simplest, least aggressive mugger in Manhattan, and those who are basically monsters in human skin?" In truth I was just mentalizing the Reavers at the moment to drive the point home, but then again the Reavers were just little more than space barbarians. "Or that I don't know to watch my fire. I'm a soldier, not some hunter turned avenger."
Clark shook his head, shaking (uh) his surprise.
"I told you already, It's not about you killing people, It's about how you do it. I didn't see the act, but I saw the aftermath, and I told you already about the weapons. Even though the Red Trident deserved it, you seemed less of an avenger of injustice and more of an angel of bloody death and destruction. And there is a difference between the two. Marking those that surrendered didn't help either. It scares them."
That made me think. The public crying about me being a brute didn't really faze me, but when the nicest guy out there tells you that you could be a bit more humane when killing, it does make you thing.
This was despite the fact I had only done so once as of that moment, didn't plan to do so again in the near future given everything that was happening, and had done to people who had happily caved children heads' in despite their hypocrital claims of justice. It was the equivalent of fearing the Inglorious Basterds for hunting down SS squads and slaughtering them, and carving swastikas on the survivors.
Which, to be honest, would have been the proper response to them.
"Again, do I look like a man who kills and tortures without reason? Or doesn't try his damnest to avoid collateral damage?"
He looked me over. "No, at least to me."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Then talk to them. You're Superman, remember? Many people like and trust you, even after the Apokolips fiasco. He trusts you."
Clark knew who I was talking about, and why specifically him: unlike all the others, Bruce had both the resources and the determination to try and stop me if he thought he had to.
So, we spoke some more about what to do amidst the flashes of an increasingly larger crowd, and after that he left, leaving me to patrol the Big Apple, Madrid and Saõ Paulo at my leisure for three days, stopping an arms deal, visiting the city, and stopping a fire respectively. Meanwhile, the press didn't waste time in posting my face everywhere they could and the conspiracy theoristss, secret government agents and general nutters began wondering why exactly did I do that.
And THEN, after those three days passed, I ended having my first look at the supernatural side of this world, including magic... and demons, which in turn included half-demons.
Oh, and a chain smoking, jerkass englishman with a dress who really, really made me reconsider the 'only killing the worst when they come' rule. You'll see why,
..........
Sorry for the lack of variety and the overuse of 'wary common man' trope, and if it seems confusing, this is one of those 'keep the story going' chapters to keep my mind on tracks.
Yes, Constantine will appear, you yappering yaps. Yes, he won't be the only one.
I just realized, maybe I'm making the SI too similar to Master Chief? I mean, he's not fully silent, and when you think about it John leaves lots of blue grunt blood as he passes through Covie lines. Also, was making him reveal his identity the right move and an original choice for this kind of stories, or at least an interesting one? It's not like the SI has something to protect from bad guys by hiding his face, you know.
Last edited: Sep 4, 2021
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Never enuff Dakka
Sep 8, 2021
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#324
So, as stated before, three days passed by after I talked with Clark, during which I had little else to do aside from stopping small crimes and repairing a damaged dam. It seemed that no one wanted to do the big ones that would have drawn my attention, at least until they recovered their wits.
And then VEGA says the last thing I expected to hear.
"Slayer?" I heard him say as I oversaw the construction of the test fusion reactor from my desk, the reactor itself already on its finishing stages. All that was left, aside from of course the building, was getting deuterium and tritium to power it.
That would end up taking a backseat for a few days after what happened that day... and the following four that came after.
VEGA's words made me raise an eyebrow. It was the first time he spoke to me without being prompted, at least that I remembered, and definitely the first one he spoke like he was asking me something.
"What is it VEGA?"
"I have detected two demonic presences on Earth, both located close to each other."
I fell from my seat when I heard. "Demons, here?! What kind?!" Yeah, it was kind of a comical reaction, but it was the first time since, well, EVER, that I heard the famous line.
That and, well, DEMONS.
"Their energy signal indicates they're from this dimension." VEGA informed.
I sighed, but not relief. They might have not been MY demons, but I had just enough knowledge of DC's to know they were nasty pieces of work that, in many cases, required your typical anti-supernatural weaknesses to be actually hurt, like prayers, silver or cold iron, what you have, else your average cop squad wouldn't be slaughtered/possesed without the aid of mages or priests.
Later I found out that I could just pimp-slap them to death, but at that moment I had no idea if my weapons would be effective against them. I mean, put yourselves in my boots: not all demons are the same you know.
I could had always just ignored it, but the fact VEGA had detected them at all despite the dissimilarities, and the fact he did that well after coming here, made me decide to... take care of the demons before they caused havoc. As in, rip and tear them.
"Show me their location."
Both were located on the outskirts of Barcelona. One of the presences, the larger of the two, was discovered in an apartment complex, one surrounded by a large crowd of onlookers ,news crews, fire fighters, several police vehicles... and also covered with a plastic tarp, with several snipers keeping guard on the nearby buildings. That kind of crap only happened when a NBC emergency (nukes, chemical gassess, biological weapons, the usual) came up, and despite how dangerous Earth was, the procedure was barely used because of the involvement of metahumans.
That could not be good, not at all.
The other, a much smaller signature that was also in Barcelona, was located in an alley just a neighborhood away.
When I asked VEGA to show me what was there, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I saw... him.
A scruffy-looking, blue-eyed blonde who looked like your average private investigator, save his open jacket and the flask of booze on his hand. Only, I knew he wasn't your run of the mill detective. As a matter of fact, he wasn't exactly a private detective, at least not of the mundane.
He was John. Fucking. Constantine.
The 'Occult Detective'. Bloke from Liverpool, singer of grunge, disdainful of Hell, Heaven (and as later I found out, Woking), smoker of the million cigarettes, drinking of the whisky gallon, and the closest thing DC had to a non-overpowered Doctor Strange despite not using his magic that much compared to his magical peers.
He would also end up earning the title of 'Brit Who Can't Shut His Yapper'.
And at that moment, he was speaking with a small, red demon hunched over a pentagram.
For the third time since I arrived here, I was overcome with shock, not because of the demon since I was the demon slayer of demon slayers, but because of the fact the protagonist from a fairly underused storyline in a DCAU-based world. I mean, yes, Gotham and Bruce were mostly Arkham-based, and the games were rather disturbing by themselves, but those I had already known of since the beginning, while I didn't know Constantine even existed here!
Still, despite the fact I knew (well, believed) he was more than capable of controlling any demon he summoned, it didn't mean I would let him keep interrogating the imp. I mean, c'mon, I'm Doomguy, I'm supposed to hate demons and kill 'em dead no matter the source! Plus, I thought it was time to show someone my real job, even if I didn't actually tell them.
So, with shotgun in hand and goal in mind, I opened a portal to the alley and aimed at the imp the moment I came out. Constantine was his usual apathetic, a bit drunk self and therefore didn't react fast enough to the usually amazement-inspiring blue portal and me stepping out of it fast enough, but the imp did.
Just not as fast as it probably wanted.
"What the-" That was the most the little freak of nature got to say before I blew him apart in a single shot. Aside from the satisfaction of finally killing a demon since becoming the Slayer, this showed me two important pieces of critical information:
-A DOOM demon he wasn't, not really tough. Therefore, most other demons here would be the same.
-At the very least, the aforementioned fact meant the weaker demons could eat lead without trouble.
Sadly, I DID ruin Constantine's job in a rather rude manner AND cover him in demonic blood.
Oh, and I had done so while he was taking a sip from his flask, so he also chocked AND accidentally dropped his flask, spilling the precious liquor on the disgusting alley floor.
"You killed my contact, you twat!" He screamed at me between coughs. Years of smoking non-stop had left his voice nearly as gravelly as Wolverine's. "And made me drop my flask!"
I shrugged. "I do not like demons, and let's leave it at that."
His annoyance and anger evaporated when he finally stopped coughing and then gave me a good look up and down... and then walked around me to confim that I was real. "Wait, you're that Doom Slaying guy, aren't you?"
"Slayer." I corrected him. Funny, how quickly he recovered from losing his drink and, you know, seeing me of all people up front.
"Tomato, potato, whatever the hell americans say." Constantine replied. "Okay, this crazy. Never expected to meet you of all gun-toting vigilantes out there. Why did you come here? And how, exactly, did you know my informant was a demon? He could have been some mutated rat with wing you know."
"You opened a gate to another dimension. Cannot be sure what might come through, you already know if you watch the news. And that creature was a deadringer for your average demon, and I've known for a while that both Heaven and Hell are real." I said as I erased the pentagram on the ground. He didn't need to know everything, not yet, and didn't want them to possibly eavesdrop on us. "I don't like interdimensional creatures, much less demons."
Constantine grumbled as he watched the imp's blood burn away... and scorch his jacket as it did so. "I knew that already, EVERYONE does as a matter of fact.."
I put the shotgun back into Hammerspace and then looked at the detective. "Why did you summon a demon?"
Constantine just glared at me before sighing. "You know, nobody has ever been able to pinpoint me during a job. I... needed firsthand information."
"For what? I might help."
He signaled me to follow him outside the alley to a spot where we were still hidden, then pointed at the nearby apartment building as he took a whiff from a cigarette he produced. "A few months ago, some catholic bloke brought a portuguese lass here after she got possessed by a demon the previous year, to see if he could kick the demon out of her. A little over a month ago he went dark. The Vatican then asked me of all people to go and see if I could take both back and try and exorcise the girl with my 'skills'" He said with air quotes. "Usually I tell them to piss off any time they call me for my services, but this time was about a poor girl being possessed by a demon.
That interested me. "Would you have helped them if the demon had possesed the priest instead of the girl?"
Again, he took a smoke as he stared at the apartment building. "Don't care if some priest pisses off the wrong demon prince and gets his soul nabbed because of it, might have brought it upon himself, but I don't like it when its the innocent who suffer THAT, much less children."
"How serious."
He looked at me with a steely look. "The fact not even the Vatican's own exorcists could free her should tell you something, space marine."
Something told me I had seen this before, but where? Definitely not DOOM. "Why is the building in quarantine then?"
He took another whiff as we the small media spectacle watched from afar. "Dunno what the hell did he do, but the entire place's been quarantined since fiver hours ago after someone called the firefighters."
"What for?"
"Something about a screaming lady. Pretty sure she's the girl." He replied. "Twenty minutes after they went in the police covered the entire place up, covering it up saying something about a dangerous virus that had somehow found its way into the building." He took another whiff and then glared at me. "Could have found out everything that was going on until you came and blew my informant to smithreens. Can't use clairvoyance to scout the place either, something's blocking me out. I think it's the freak."
That wouldn't have been everything he got from the imp. He had been speaking to it for a few minutes at least. "Did you get something from it at least?"
"Yeah. Little bastard rhymed too much and tried to be as bloody cryptic as possible, as always, but I did get him to say something about 'blood' and 'it spreading'."
'Blood' and 'it spreading'. Just the fact this involved demons and those words made me feel a bit uneasy... and have déjà vu. At the same time, however, I wanted to help. I mean, I was already there, and as already stated I was Doom Slayer, demon slayer extraordinaire.
"Say, I planned to go in there through the sewers, but since you came with that teleporty thing, and seem so willing to help me out... You need an image or something?
I merely shook my head as VEGA opened a portal behind me. "Don't need one. I take the lead."
..........
Sorry for the (relative, all things given) lack of length and genuine story plot, and overall crude writing, despite being THE chapter many of you have been asking for, didn't see the need to make it any longer. Otherwise, was my portrayal of John accurate to the comics, or at least the general idea of him? And don't worry, the annoyance part will come later, for now he'll be serious due to the circumstances.
Also, fun note for the story's background: Games Workhsop exists here, and so do both Warhammer series. John is british, has just called the SI a space marine, and they're about to face a demon. He might not be really surprised when the beans end up inevitably spilled out.
Last edited: Sep 11, 2021
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Stupid the Ork
Sep 8, 2021
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Stupid the Ork
Never enuff Dakka
Sep 12, 2021
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#343
Of all the weirdos, freaks and nutters that were collectivelly known as 'heroes', John never expected to basically team up with the newest one, who also had the most outlandish name AND backstory: Doom Slayer, a soldier from an alternative Earth. John could call bullshit when he saw it, but he didn't know much about the guy, aside from him having his base on Mars, being pretty damn strong, and most importantly a gun user not afraid to rip people apart with said guns... and his bare hands.
John grimaced when he remembered the pictures of what he did to those underwater wankers. There were demons more restrained than him.
At the same time, one doesn't call himself Doom Slayer and end up not killing anything. Plus, the fact he was not afraid of killing and more than willing to being worse than them made him a good deal better than that cowl-wearing nutjob from Gotham, at least to John.
'I mean, one thing is not stooping to their level, another is to send the bloody Jack the Clown to the madhouse, instead of the morgue.' He wasn't critical of Batman's actions per se, he was just annoyed at the Bat's adherence to the Fifth Commandment.
And then there was the strange... energy, for lack of a better way to describe whatever he felt when he looked at the guy. It wasn't magical in nature, and he pretty much doubted it was normal radiation, but he was practically radiating with it.
'Like some kind of eldritch Elephan'ts Foot.' He thought as he waited a few seconds to follow after Slayer secured the area or something like that.
He couldn't exactly pinpoint what exactly it was. Plus, despite everything he knew about Slayer, namely his strict code of good and evil and how to deal with the extreme of the latter, he didn't fancy having his skull crushed by a space soldier, at least not yet. He could always ask the guy later, or get some demon or ghost to attack him and try and get results from the massacre, for now it was time to work.
Crossing the portal after Doom Slayer, John found himself surrounded by darkness. Conjuring a light to see around, the occultist saw they were on the ground floor of the apartment building, your typical lobby with a kiosk near the entrance and a sectional door on the back. It would have been a normal sight, if not for the literal gallon of blood spilled on the floor. Dry blood.
And then he heard someone scream. No, not someone, something.
Turning around, he saw Doom Slayer holding a screaming woman by the throat, near the stairs. By the face and clothing of the brunette, she had to be middle-aged, with a body clearly wracked by at least one pregnancy, and she did not have the looks of a worker... In other words, she was your average homemaker.
Well, more like had been, given the blood on her clothes.
It was a daunting sight, seeing the seemingly hapless mother being painfully restrained by a super known but for the wrong reasons: the woman was clearly furious and bloodthirsty, instead of scared shitless by the soldier from the future, and her screams were somehow distorted, maybe even...
Demonic.
John sighed "Definitely possessed." He muttered. Not the last time an inhabitant from Hell controlling a living body couldn't stop itself from accidentally revealing its presence in a stupid manner just by opening the poor sod's mouth.
Just when the giant of a man was about to do something that would have definitely have killed the possessed woman (he only raised his free arm, but even a forceful poke from a guy that could stop a speeding train would have pierced her skull), John stopped him by grabbing his shoulder, having to fully raise his arm to do so. He wanted to try something.
"Wait, don't kill her yet. I gotta try and save her soul or whatever, remember?"
The Doom Slayer looked at him, and then at the snarling woman.
"It bites." He warned. He also didn't say 'her, but 'it'. That didn't bode well, that's for sure. It also meant that Doom Slayer might not really care about the innocent slaves of a demon, but hey, not all could be saved from their grasp.
"I know, I know." John waved him off as he got closer to the prisoner, taking care to not getting too close to clawing range. No way he'd let some spaniard bitch scratch his face. First, he inspected her from a safe distance.
She had the red eyes and the manic expression, but at the same time something didn't add up: blood dripped from from her mouth and her eyes but these seemed to be untouched, she had bites across her body, and then there was the fact she was acting like a mindless animal, not even bothering to arm herself or use magic.
'What kind of demon are you, mate?' John thought to himself as he continued inspecting the woman.
Up close she didn't look like someone whose body had been taken over by an inhabitant from Hell... As a matter of truth, she looked more like someone suffering some sort of rabies than your average demon host/vehicle. This was definitely not your average possession, that was for sure. But according to the Vatican, the possessed girl, Medeiros, couldn't be any older than twenty. Did the demon jump hosts? If so, why did it use bites instead of possessing her outright?
Most importantly now that the demon changed victims, what happened to everyone else? Did it just kill them, leaving their corpses on the upper floors? Not exactly impossible since he had seen a possessed midget go on a bloody rampage across a pub, but he still did so with a fireaxe and a shotgun, and with that kind of body she could have been restrained by a young copper or fireman.
And then, just as he was about to compel it to speak, the bitch's eyes focused on him, and she stopped trying to free herself.
"John Constantine!" The voice that came from the woman's mouth was not human, most definitely the demon controlling her.
John merely smiled. "Well, hello there beatiful. Nice to now even the spaniards know about me."
"Every demon in Hell knows about you, John Constantine!" She screamed as she kept struggling to free herself.
"Yeah, yeah." John waved her off before looking up at Slayer. "This sounds stupid, but try to hold her still, will ya? I need her inmobile."
The Slayer gave a light nod and did as John asked... by dislocating the possessed's limbs one by one and... 'tying' them to the railing. Good thing the demon-possessed woman didn't feel pain, John hated hearing the screaming of people having their limbs used as makeshift ropes.
The fact Doom Slayer just crippled an innocent victim of Hell didn't evade him, but he figured the guy had some super-advanced healing bullshit that would repair the damage after kicking the freak out of her. Even if he didn't, John himself could mend her a bit. Still, a warning would have been nice.
"Didn't need to break her bones, ya know." He told Slayer, who shrugged at his 'berating', before turning back to the woman. "Now, let's see what's hiding under the surface..."
John casted a spell to force the demon to respond his every question, to get as much info as he could before kicking it out of the host... and discovered something that actually shocked him: nothing.
As in, he couldn't feel either the demon or the woman's soul inside the body. There simply was nothing inside, and the woman should have been little more than a slowly-dying vegetable for lack of a soul, yet she obviously could move, and he could hear her heart still pumping, so she wasn't undead. This was a first.
'What the shit did I embroil myself into this time? Fucking catholics!'
He shook his stupor and adressed the creature. "Where are you hiding, asshole?"
The bitch stopped screaming and then smiled a toothy, bloodied grin.
"In your mother's cunt! You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She-it sneered. It was pointless to use feminine pronouns without knowing the demon's gender.
"Oh, c'mon, do I look THAT desperate to you?" He grinned back before finishing the spell and blasting the woman with it. It wouldn't last long, but he was confident it would be enough to get some answers. "Now, where are you hiding at, and how did this happen? No metaphorical stuff, no cryptic shite, straight to the point, alright? Don
Don't try to resist if you don't want to feel how much pain can the human body withstand... and THEN, I'll give you to Doom Slayer here." He gestured at said soldier. "Believe me, he's one creative bloke when it comes to punishing the wicked."
The demon tried to resist, but John didn't earn the hatred of a good portion of Hell (and a smaller one of Heaven) for nothing. "The body of the girl I'm controlling is sealed in the penthouse; Albelda made sure that I wouldn't get out."
Finally, a name! "Albelda?"
The demon sneered. "He's the curate who decided to use my host to try and fire a solution to possession! Funny, given he deliberately injected children with the tained blood and fed me human body parts to keep me docile, or so he thought!"
'Well, fuck' John thought. He knew that some of the Vatican's people were assholes, but curates? All he had met in person had been as kindly as good as they seemed to be. Then again, if Albelda thought he could find a way to counter demonic possessions, he probably thought that stopping them from enslaving people would be worth Hell.
The demon kept talking. "The fool thought he could stop me and any future demon from taking over mortals by creating a... vaccine! As if science can stop us from taking what we want!" It said in a sarcastic tone. Had it beeen able to, it probably would have used air quotes. "Instead, he provided me with a efficient, quick way to ensnare souls AND create an army of soulless maniacs I can control as one!"
John cursed under his breath. If what the demon was saying was true (and knowing these kind of demons, it probably was), they weren't dealing with your average demonic possession, but a literal demonic infection that spread through people like some sort of, for lack of a better term, zombie virus. A supernatural zombie virus, instead of a man/alien-made one. That was a first.
So, Romero and Argento ended up being partly-right. Too bad the dead were neither slow, nor actually dead, at least in body.
Were it not for the fact it was actually happening, and he was the one charged to clean the mess, John would have laughed at the idea.
"Now all I need to do is to escape this wretched building, infect the population, and scourge the planet in search of her!"
That made John to raise an eyebrow in confusion. 'Her'? "Who's her?"
But the demon sneered. "I won't say more, your spell is no more! Nothing you can offer me can sway me, and you can't threaten me with this man-shaped creature that reeks of power!"
Doom Slayer tightened his grip on its neck at this last part, and John could see his free hand clench into a fist. Well, at least he wasn't the only one getting a strange feeling from the big lug. Still, maybe he could get some more info from this.
"Say, would you be willing to tell me more about whoever this lass is if I-" He began to say before the demon roared at him.
"I don't want your stinking soul, Constantine!" It cried. "I know your tricks, human, they won't work on me! I shall speak no more about my mission!"
Damn, first smart demon who refused a (not really) free soul.
"You and your monster friend's bodies will be a great addition to my army!"
Oh, right, he had momentarily forgotten, it had infected everyone in the building. They could not be saved, much less the Medeiros girl; even if (well, more like when) the two of them got to the girl and dispatched her, the others would still be soulless husks, basically motion-able vegetables.
John grimaced. This was the third time he came too late, and the first time more than a dozen souls had been taken to the Biggest House, for no reason than sharing the same building a crazy priest did.
"Your souls will burn in Hell forever, adding two more to my hoard!" It cackled.
Doom Slayer, not bothering to wait for John to even open his mouth, tightened his hold on the still cackling woman's neck before completely crushing it, popping the head off. John could imagine a sneer of disgust on his face behind that helmet.
The moment he did so, several animal-like screams coming from at least a few dozen throats echoed throughout the entire building, followed by the rushed steps of the owners of said throats rushing down the stairs. Seventy soulless husks knew they were there, and all of them wanted their blood, and very possibly escape and murder and infect anyone they could get their filthy hands on, and start a bonafida apocalypse worthy of getting the 'A' treatment.
Over their dead bodies.
John grunted as he lightened a cigarette and took a smoke. He always did so before a big fight, which was a rare occurrence. "Whelp, there's no turning back now. We'll have to fight our way through those poor bastards and get the wanker."
Doom Slayer merely pullet out that bigass shotgun of his. "To the penthouse then." Then Doom Slayer looked above at the approaching horde of pseudo-zombies, and did something that, to be honest, the detective had expected of him given who he was.
A one-liner about putting the infected out of their misery, like some corny action hero from the eighties? A roar of rage that would have shaken the entire damn building and challenged the infected? An oath to protect all that was good and pure, like the Lad in Blue, as some called Superman back on the Isles?
None of those.
He merely cocked his shotgun and waited for the first infected, a bald firefighter with a sledgehammer, to reach the floor down to them, at which point giving him a bodyful of futuristic buckshot for his troubles that completely disintegrated him.
John smiled grimly before summoning a fire on his left hand and then throwing it at an old asian man that had been smart enough to jump over the railing, followed by another.
He could already hear Goblin's music blaring off on the back of his head.
..........
So, how was the chapter? Less action, more narrative, I know, but I wanted to save the brutality for the next chapter. Did I write Constantine's personality and attitude right? And the cockney slang?
Obviously the REC side of the arc is not goint to be a complete copy-paste of the first film: for example, there are only eighteen people, but I raised it here to seventy infected because, well, it will make the slaughter last (a bit) longer than a minute, and therefore allow Constantine to shine. Yes, I know, canon John isn't exactly a fighter, nor an offensive magic-user all things given, but I'm basing this itineration of him on the DC Animated Movies Universe, who's basically a D&D mage.
Goblin is the band that recorded the OST of the original Dawn of the Dead, and its music is much heavily featured on the european cut. Yeah, John knows this is basically a zombie apocalypse.
Last edited: Sep 13, 2021
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