Slay the Hierarchy

The Engagement Pt. III

A/N: References for Petunia and Timothy have been added to the [filler] chapter for those interested. Enjoy!

If the Slayer thought there would ever come a time he'd get to relive his days as a marine-in-training, it was now.

He'd been eighteen years old when he was drafted. He was smaller. More naïve. A shadow of the man he had become after the invasion on Phobos.

He had done a lot of stupid things in his life. He also found redemption somewhere along the way. Life. He found himself living it for a stupendous amount of time.

He also found himself doing the killing part of it for an exceptionally ludicrous number of years.

Discord, good, Imp's brain said as he leapt wildly for the closest window. Food, there.

The wiry hell spawn salivated as it clawed and shoved aside its brethren, all scurrying hastily in unison for the closest entrance to the screams and cries of humans. The first one to reach the glass grinned. Well, they were always more or less grinning with teeth like that.

The first Imp to reach the manor also just happened to be the first to be added to the kill count.

A massive weight landed over the thing's body, squashing it head-first into the sand in a spray and mash of gore. The others hissed and recoiled instantly at the one responsible; their small bodies cringing and tensing with rage and fear.

Hell Walker.

He dropped the heavier weapons to the ground and snapped the Super Shotgun closed; the sound akin to the crack of lightning, a sign of danger. But they were relentless. They were compelled by evil, instinct, and rage.

The Imps scattered at once, hurling fire in the threat's direction which the Slayer instantly dispelled with fire of his own from the Super Shotgun. The flames exploded as he charged through the sparks, choke-slamming the closest demon and firing at a handful more within range. They burst like packets of blood as he squeezed hard on the writhing Imp in his fist, crushing its throat to a fleshy pulp.

He flung the body aside and grasped the shotgun again with both hands, squeezing and holding the trigger; the massive hook attachment harpooning into a flying Gargoyle, pulling him into the air too. He blasted the demon before the momentum carried him forward, staring down into the trenches at the handful of Imps and glowing red portals they spawned from.

He scowled at the sight. The only thing he could think of that prompted waves like this were the destruction of Gore Nests, but that was a thought for another time when he noticed Heavies appear from the fleeting portals as well.

Swapping out the shotgun for the Heavy Cannon on his back, the Slayer squeezed the trigger, dispatching the remaining Imps and Gargoyles with a barrage of micro missiles. Though scattered, the missiles found aim, detonating in bursts of flesh and bone.

The Slayer landed feet-first into the sand again atop a dune, unloading magazines into the approaching Hell Knights, whittling them down to skeletons. But there was something quicker and smarter than them. Something the Slayer hadn't seen before and made its presence known by an Argent projectile; the searing hot energy burning through his suit as he turned to face it, swapping the Micro Missiles attachment for the Precision Bolt.

He aimed it down, watching the flesh and metal snake slithering through the trenches and fired; every bullet missing it by a thread.

The Heavy Cannon wasn't going to cut it for this one.