DOOM SLAYER

Hayato looked over about quickly enough to see the bottle shatter. He knew well enough which one that one was, for no particular reason. He wasn’t concerned about clean up even if he did it himself, but he did regret that good whisky had been wasted.

“Hey, that was better than shooting me as the example.” The nerves and the apparent lack of planning made it feel like he’d narrowly escaped it. “Being able to aim is good, if you can trust yourself not to hit one of our own. I don’t think you’ll have to do it often. Just uh, if you need target practice, try to do that somewhere else.”

Killing demons wasn’t the strangest answer he could’ve gotten. In fact, the age listing had been stranger. “Sir is fine for me.” The amused expression, slightly turned away from who he was speaking to, betrayed his real feelings on how this meeting was going. “Or since there’s three of us, Ichimonji.”

He stepped around Dakota, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t drink, even on your break. You’ll have to kick out the dangerous drinkers without adding to it.” A lot of the staff would be drinking in an effort to sell more to patrons, and it could provide a big temptation. Continuing forward, he asked, “You’re not distracted by beautiful people, are you?” 

“Uh–I wouldn’t--” he laughs hoarsely, “I wouldn’t shoot you. You look perfectly human. And healthy, and not a demon zombie.” he stops for a beat. “It’s been a long time I haven’t shot under pressure, I’m sure I won’t hit anybody I don’t mean to.” the DOOM marine continues gathering himself back up into composure. 

Considering how much he’s seen of anything-but-human hellspawn, people are...easy. 

“Ichimonji.” he repeats, whispering it two more times to commit it to memory. “Got it.” 

The DOOM marine jumps as Hayato puts a hand on his shoulder, apprehension clear on his face for a second. The problems he had just didn’t stop, did it? A rabbit hole in the worst way, he thought. He could just go around hunting monsters or something, why try and function in a normal job like this? When he clearly--

“I’m not really partial to alcohol, I don’t even remember what it tastes like.” 

Clearly--

“I don’t think he’ll be a distraction--I mean, there’s someone who works here, but, I’ll set boundaries, I’m more pissed at him than anything, but I’ll keep it out of business.” 

Clearly...

“Otherwise, no--no I’m not easily distracted. By people. By anything. I’m kind of aware of everything at every given time. Kinda happens when demons, uh, everywhere. Yeah. Coming from. Anywhere.” 

[♚] Inha isn’t yet as tipsy as one might assume by the way she’s lying on the counter, chin resting on its surface. Her eyes have slightly tired look on them as she stares her cocktail glass. When she’s called there’s mumble and grumble before she actually lazily darts her eyes to side. 

She pulls few strands of hair off her face as she pulls herself up. For a while she stares absentmindedly before it clicks. A small ‘oh’ escapes her before her face of surprise turns into a frown. She now gives a more focused look at him.

“ What the—- you work here? “ her tone is a bit flat. Not exactly the kind of reaction you expect from reunions.

“ Did you go into prison or something? “

The marine leans in on himself as he sits on the chair, hands tangling and untangling themselves together. His stare is pretty distant even when looking directly at her. His brows only raise slightly in response. He crunches the ice cube in his mouth and speaks, albeit hoarsely.

“I mean, by some miracle, I still work here, and by some god given blessing I’m not in jail; or ever have been.”

Itching his nose he glances over her. She doesn’t look great either, but he has no clue how much she’s drunken before he arrived.

Ironic. All of these were things he’s heard before. All the warnings spit at him–but in a much different light than this.

Ironic that even then he had not learned a single thing from it. Again and again, time after time, the King acted his part to a T. It was like another mask–and it was easy to forget who you actually were when the face you greeted each rise of the morning sun was different than the one you’d been born with.

The piercing words were shot rapidly. The feeling of pins and needles overwhelmed the tips of his fingers–numbness that had traveled into his mouth, leaving it dry, unable to swallow without a tinge of pain traveling down with it. Where to even begin? He could start from multiple places, from multiple angles. Silence clung on, making every word shouted and spat in his face wrap tighter around his throat, threatening to strangle him along side his stifled sobbing.

Crying got him nowhere. Not that it ever really did. Yet here he was, still feeling lower lids twitch and brows furrow. Feeling that pit in his stomach grow and grow, consuming him much like the fear that had now made it’s home as a throbbing cramp in his lower back and a clawing pain striking at calves. Heat rose to his cheeks, his mind screamed and begged for legs to take action. Kick and run–KICK AND RUN. But he couldn’t.

Ironic. He wanted this.

Keep reading

Watching the turn was horrifying, the DOOM marine's face contorting into disgust and confusion.

"Even your fucking face is a LIE?!"

A steel toed boot goes through the wall between his legs. He's only caving in closer. The fire grows and it threatens to leave even deeper burns.

"DO YOU THINK I LIKE SHOWING PEOPLE MY FACE? I'D WEAR THE HELMET EVERY GODDAMN DAY IF I COULD, BUT GUESS WHAT! PEOPLE WON'T THINK I'M HUMAN! PEOPLE JUST WON'T CONSIDER I'M A HUMAN BEING. SO WHAT ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?! BECAUSE YOU SURE AS EVERY FUCKING ORIFICE OF HELL AREN'T THE SAME PERSON."

The trembling continues, his veins popping, face only getting redder as he huffs and puffs. He lets go of the knight's face with a dragged yank, and grips his wrist near the point of breaking it as he tries to touch his face.

"This happened before, I DON'T. LIKE. BEING. TOUCHED."

He tosses it aside and a second later his shoulders tighten, nails digging into palms, a motion half-cocked in what would've been a punch. But the explanation kept going, and his patience was running terribly, terribly thin.

“There might just be nobody in this world that deserves me."

The whisper was spoken like a threat, but the quietness of it was such a whiplash from the screaming. There was...a sadness about it. His eyes, despite their boxer's stance-like dancing, had looked swept by a wave of cold water.

The deep wrinkles in his face change their curves, appendages of their own trying to refuse any sympathetic looks. His eyes close tightly, open quickly, his fist swipes across the side of the King Knight's head in one motion. Hot tears shiver down his face, lip bleeding from biting, buttons are nearly being ripped from their garments.

"Stop. Talking."

The moment had been quick.

One moment, he was at the mercy of Dr. Samuel Hayden, as the towering cyborg had taken the Crucible away from him, gloating about his victory despite the closing of the Hell Portal.

The very next moment, the Tether System had activated, and zipped him away from Hayden, but to a different location.  He had landed right on his back, grunting from the sudden impact.

Gripping his fist, he pounded the ground as he sat back up.  Though, his anger had evolved into confusion, as there was another person standing in front of him.

One that looked exactly like the DOOM Marine.

As he got to his feet, he measured the figure in front of him.  He wore the exact same Praetor Suit.  He recognized every piece, every inch of steel, and every marking on it.  It was his Praetor Suit.

When he looked closer, as he sauntered up to the figure, he noticed a very critical detail on the helmet.

The figure bore the Mark of the Doom Slayer…

How…?

Who else could bear that mark…?

The Predator’s brow scrunched as he tried to piece everything together.  What would he say?  What could he say?

What puzzled the DOOM Marine even more was the babbling that came out of this person’s mouth.

This was absurd!  There was no way this was the same person as the one Hell dubbed the Doom Slayer.  Was it…?

In silent bemusement, as the DOOM Marine stood face to face with his double, he could only cock his head to the side.  Something about this whole situation seemed very wrong.

Though his own head cocked along with his hip, it didn’t stay in the same position for long. As a matter fact, it never seemed to, and if his eyes were even clearly visible, they’d be constantly flicking from one section to the next. 

A mental checklist goes off. Suit? Flawless mimicry. Mark? Definitely there. Same Build? Certainly. Feeling of obligation to talk when the other person isn’t? Oh god, he isn’t speaking at all.

“You’re gonna make me fill up all this quiet space? I mean I totally can, because get this, I don’t really care for talking to demons, and old fogey Hayden sure as hell won’t let me get a single word in, no matter how hard I scream. I gave that up a long time ago.”

He continues to fidget, trigger finger impatiently rubbing the mechanism before he puts it down--just a little bit. He’s still paranoid. They haven’t spoke, it could be an illusion, a hallucination, a clone, an alternate version of himself? What would be worse? Actually being faced with an alternate you--god, god just please let it be a demon or something, this is weird. 

And then the other him walks up--the shotgun is held tightly with both hands, and he scowls deeply. 

Same height? Check. 

“Sizing me up there, pal? S’pose I don’t got a door to knock on, suppose a--uh, actually some sort of anomaly might happen if we touch each other, when I really think about it. Also space, personal space, might be invaded within a couple steps there--if you’re me, you know, close things, usually demons, clawing, gnawing, sharp teeth. Back up.” 

His deceptively casual tone (a ruse to keep himself sane) had quickly deepened as he began posing for a threat. The gun is pointed towards the alternate’s helmet as he puffs out his chest, and that’s...

“That’s....not going to do much, with the praetor suit, no...” 

He lowers the shotgun and gives himself a bit of distance. 

His voice is going to go hoarse at this rate, there wasn’t a lot of chances he got to speak and now he has a feeling it’s...obnoxious. The surmounting frustration was building very clearly on him. There’s something of a sniffing sound, fingers tapping across the barrel, feet re-positioning. 

“Erk…!”

No, no he could not pull a rabbit out from his hat. As much as he would like to try to do that, all that would end up in is failure, said failure bound to send the marine within a downward spiral of emotions.

Now, what would Ales do if e wanted to grab something, yet he just didn’t have the right resources to be able to gain such a thing…

…Oh. Ales, no. NO.

YOU ARE NOT GOING TO STUFF AS MANY RABBITS AS YOU CAN INTO YOUR HAT JUST TO SATISFY THE MARINE, MANSAY.

“…Turn away from the store for a minute or two, and I can show you the magic trick! H-heh!”

The DOOM marine squints, staring at Ales while slowly getting closer and closer to his face. 

“Okay.” 

Of course he ran through every possible way this magic trick could work, but he also just really really really really really really really really wanted to hold a rabbit. They could always put it back, right? 

“Don’t pull it up by the ears though, that’s just cruel.” 

“Oh, geez,” Callie gurgles, holding her long tentacle clubs up in surrender. She would have gone back to her biped form but a sudden change like that might startle the guy. “You don’t wanna eat me! I can talk and I’m a person and stuff!” Not to mention by all accounts Inklings weren’t really edible… The moment you hacked off a chunk of them it turned into ink. Kill a squid and you’d just have a pile of goop a few minutes later. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

“YEAH well, that’s pretty fucking cool.”

He glances at the Seagull’s attempt to fly off, it’s now clipped wing making it quite difficult. His stare of pity mingles with it for a bit. But there wasn’t much to be done about it. He wasn’t an animal doctor or anything.