#he willingly went back into hell in doom ii

[pikkish]

4I doomguy? Idk what would make him make that face, I don't know any doom lore lol :P Just pick whatever

Imagine for a moment that you have spent the last few days in Hell. It certainly wasn't nice- it was, again, literal Hell- but you're also strong as hell. So you fought your way out, and you taught those hellspawn jerks a lesson or two along the way. You even found the demon who was leading the invasion and shot it full of holes, just for good measure. It might'a been smart enough to think up Earth invasion plans, but that big brain of its still couldn't stop a hundred bullets or so, courtesy of your own trigger finger.

Now you've made it back to Earth, and you're feeling mighty badass, having curb stomped the whole of Hell itself. And it's the good old, demon-free blue skies and green fields of Earth as far as the eye can see... until you turn around. The city is burning on the horizon, but right here in front of you, where you were sure to see it, where they knew you would see it, on a fence post sharpened into a stake, is the decapitated head of your beloved pet rabbit.

And there is a bit of Doom lore for you, as well as what exactly I think might make Doomguy make that face :)

[wickedvalentine-blog]

- Accursed Blessing I. -

Act I – Tribute of the Divines

A child was born, pure of human senses of judgement, duty and knowledge. At his cradle came to give their pledge, three goddesses of heaven, sisters of Celestis.

The child wandered in dreams as the sisters gathered around. Intrigued by the purity profound; the lost treasure of kings and queens.

The youngest sister stepped out, caressed his head, her snow-white hair gently touched his joined hands. Her name is Alba, an angel of forsaken lands; it was a goddess of words staying at his bed.

“Sleep, child, while there is still a dream to cherish. Once you are awake, a dreadful path you will tread, pained and lonely, you will miss your warm bed. But do not fear it, you will neither fail nor perish, for we will watch over you. I, Alba of the lands forsaken, will be with you as you reawaken, to guide your hand through the world written anew.”

The goddess of book and quill, ever so bold, leaned forward and kissed the child’s cheek. He is small and frail, but no longer weak, the gift of writing would shine down on his dark road.

Alba... her realm is travelled only by few, for who would willingly wander alone? Wanderer explores the land forlorn, forever old and forever new. Still the goddess uses all her might to help her children on the forsaken road, at its end, the promise of joy tenfold, the divine delights dwell, for which mortals fight.

Although she is youngest of the three, Alba’s powers exceeds all and any. With her thought a world is created, and with it many as well faded.

-

The eldest looked at the sleeping boy wondered whether she gives her pledge. “Another gift would make his spirit foil, but his senses sharpened like an edge.”

Aura, goddess from the house of melodies, full of friends, free of enemies, doubted her decision more than ever, wished to save the child from painful endeavour.

“Can we make a perfect human of this child? One wild of nature and calm of mind? There will always be a price to pay for talent, that is the way of fate, unwanted and ambivalent.”

Aura knows more than anyone how success is failure’s son. Her fair hair and voice angelic... although divine, she is a cursed relic. Through pain and loss the voice goddess rose. Now at the cradle she stands fighting her own moral laments.

She looked at the middle sister blankly expecting her move to provide a decision. She approached the child and watched, her eyes saw more than a kid, a dreadful vision.

-

Atra, the goddess of visions and memory, her blood red eyes saw a lot of pain, war, love and treachery, her torment never was in vain.

Her gift is to see more than meets the eye, and remember the stillness of the world around. Once the time of art is nigh, a memory to a canvas is eternally bound.

“Alba’s gift was more than enough. We already interfered beyond our limits. His life will be dangerous and rough should Fate ever hear of this.”

-

Unfortunate this sentence was, an unexpected turn of the cause. Fate made her appearance in the room, a failed progeny of doom.

Strange powers bound the sisters powerless as the Fate took over their place. She came here to curse the child, not to bless, to turn his righteous pride into disgrace.

“So it is a gift you wish for... Fear not, I shall provide a suitable one. As for the gift you received before, keep it, your life had just begun.

I give you a gift of eternal pain, knowledge of what could have been had your trying not end in vain and your dreams so close to be seen but never close enough to grasp, I promise you will cry and gasp in agony begging me to help this useless insignificant whelp! And I grant you the curse of the soul-wrecked; you shall know and fear of being imperfect! Go now, Alba’s young apprentice, the gifts of her sisters you shall forever miss.” Fate and the goddesses faded away, left the child a high price to pay for a life neither asked for nor wanted. What lies ahead is a story, tragic and haunted...

Act II – A kiss, my beloved...

The child grew up in great haste, his gift is still unfound but not in waste. Alba, in her kingdom imprisoned by fate, grieved and cried, forced to watch and wait.

She wished to help the kid right away, to banish the dread and dismay. Alas, there was nothing in her power to escape the heavily guarded prison tower.

-

Six times the winter came and went, bringing sadness in every moment spent. Loneliness sank its vicious teeth into the skin, and the kid started thinking: what could have been?

Laments sent out a silent cry, thus far the child did not wish die. Once upon time, on a lonely wintry night, the child went to sleep, only to wake as a knight.

In a dream, often shrouded in mystery, he met a girl – to his life the greatest victory. The moon shined brightly upon those two, love-struck, they immediately knew this encounter is above fate and nature, an adventure for the chosen ones to tread and wager. The dream was coming to an end, no more than their eyes have met. Yet, they both knew what was in their mind, a wish for kiss, the sweetest of its kind. The sealing of lips was nearly made, but alas, sooner this dream had to fade.

The child woke up cast out from heaven once again, back into reality, the hell’s harsh and dissonant den. But this time he entered without a frown. In tears of joy he could swim and drown.

For years the child wandered the halls of hell, what he was thinking, no demon could tell. His heart like the one of a dog, loyal, relentless and lost in a monologue, awaited his mistress with tempered belief, his heart hidden well from any thief.

Sixteenth winter had passed since his birth, the child started doubting his true worth. No miracle brought the two lovers together, from angel’s wing falls the last feather.

Fate smirks and grins at her triumphant trickery, douses the flames of hope to induce misery. Alba still trapped along with her siblings, sends her children to do her biddings.

“Go forth, daughters of affection, I place my apprentice under your kind protection. Go forth, be swift! Free him of the guilt and unveil my gift!”

So the two daughters hurried, hardly breathing, the two muses emerged in the world of the living. In a place once filled with love and light, they found the child, wounded from the fight.

Act III – Honour turns to horror / Monarch of Hell

Now they were three on this journey of tragedy. The muses told him of the gift in his soul, a way to fend off his perilous agony, one that is worthy of its toll.

With quill and blood he wrote, but never ceased to wonder: where is the colour and where is the note? Doubts slowly started ruining his mind asunder.

“Unneeded or unwanted am I? I break down for no reason why. As if cursed was this gift weighing me down, As if fate itself wanted me fall and drown.“

The muses looked at each other anxiously, to them he was still like a family. They revealed fate’s curse, unknown to him, laments turned his feelings dark and grim.

-

Fate has won both the battle and war, swept away his hopes with no remorse. When there was no place to go anymore, the child shut himself behind iron doors.

There his mind fell into dark depths into hatred, lust and laments. No more did he wish to live and create, no more time to waste, no more time to wait. “There’s a battle to be waged once again, this time all my anger I shall unleash along with pain! Brace yourself fate, I will tear apart your wings! You will regret the day you moved my strings. And should I die, I care not. Life never was the place I sought. Death walks with me as a friend, who sees to it that I shall end with a smile on my soul and face as I slay the one who upon me bestowed disgrace.”

Fate and the child - each other they still loathe, a war’s end needs the death of both. They have yet to cross swords and blades, and when the child´s life-light fades the Pale Lady takes them both to hell where their story I can once again tell as I did so many times before, and yet, you all read and listen without bore.

Act IV – The Chaos Walker

“Alba... heed my words, for I can no longer heed yours. I, the chaos walker of the real worlds, have lived through enough wars. Your gift I will no longer use, your ideas I will no longer follow. Find another child to abuse with your hope that brings sorrow.”

Is this what I really wish for? Anxious and uncertain chaos doth be... It is both all and every and neither, nor, a spiral of colour which no one can see.

I wish to be no more the fire that heals and water that burns, bloody peace and merciful war, the kindness given and meanness that returns, silent cry of a loud, deaf person, white pawn on a square of a black king, the remedy that will worsen and the venom that can heal everything.

Here I stand – the chaos walker. I, the child who in darkness grew older, and swore vengeance upon the thread weaver and the strong currents of fate’s river.

Years passed, tears were shed. To nought but darkness my path led. The light of my long lost heart is hidden in the words of my art.

Alba, answer me, for your cursed child became a monster most unkind. Would you let this weary soul yield as it threw away pride and kneeled?

Act V – Archdemon Faust

Many times I stumbled just to survive. My actions like thorns on a rose, will hurt those who wished to adore, and all who upon me wearily repose.

How can I ever undo my mistake? Welcoming the body and heart of a dame different from the one fated... All just to survive and keep sane...

This thorn... I don’t want her to bleed, nor by a fact that I find it not a mistake. It was to remain sane - and the same person whose name I used to take.

Perhaps it is too late for me to see another day, even if a brighter one. I had to become the evil side of nature - by losing to the truth, I have truly won.

As a demon, I’m seeing only myself. I gaze upon my own needs neglected, and mercilessly follow what it needs to have one’s life corrected. And now less than a human I am called? The same shadows we all bear inside; what they suppress and neglect I decided to no longer hide.

Tempered by confinement remade by a dystopian world; I have taken on a new name - Faust the archdemon of nature. Still I am a mirror to whom you vent, the same lover to whom you’ve curled when you realised love is just a game that gets better the further in you venture.

 Come see me in the darkness where you needn’t light to see that body gives us joy regardless of poor ugly me.

Embrace the evil of freedom where in mind you can find that we’ll get what we want and still remain in heart kind; for it is now we know what is true - the nature’s call we no longer heed. In life upon lust we want to feed, and by death, we’ll have all we need.