Sirens wail and shriek, over and over, crying into the abyss helplessly. They rise and dwindle before rising again, the blaring horn like a whale cry, deep with great size but distinctively vulnerable nonetheless, for even titans fall. Especially when they do, that only means a force parallel to god has unleashed its wrath.

For that titan cries, making its anguish known to all within its body that drifts in the void.

In the black infinity of the cosmos, amongst the white glitter of stars and purple strokes of nebulas, the titan coasts in the hollow space, the metal titanic entity that consists of two colossal silver rods which make contact at their centers, but individually their roll and rotate with the spirits of life, for while they make little distance in the cosmos their own rotational motion is grand in its seeming randomness. Along the rods are a few faint red lights, signifying that they’re technological contraptions of some sort, for while the rotations are perfectly smooth they’re unnatural in the vacuum.

Those sirens emit from within the titan, neverending as it remains isolated from any other bodies, for even the nearest planet is rather far. Its rods dance in solitude, alone in the abyss, trapped by its own mechanics to ensure safety.

An untouchable fortress, cursed by its own design, for the only contact it could receive was one it couldn’t deter itself.

Confined in the cosmic dungeon secluded from the bodies of any other, a male voice is broadcasted in a panicky tone shivering with dread, and it beseeches: “HELLO, THIS IS HOUSTON BENINGTON FROM THE ORACLE-XS E5 ALPHA SPACE STATION, REPORTING A BREACH IN THE FACILITY!”

Within the sirening formally identified space station rotating in the void are a vast network of long silver metallic hallways partially lit, which connect together in intersections for each of the rods house a plethora of lanes due to their grand magnitude.

However, the silver halls are sullied with crimson liquid splattered on the walls and ceilings, running down into thick puddles covering the floor from the storm that had passed by. In fact, while it’s clear the halls are meant to be silver due to the crimson visibly being splattered over, and only the silver portions of the wall breathing light into the hall, the majority of the walls are red as they’ve been vandalized with grimy graffiti.

The respective cans of said graffiti also lay on the floor, on their back, front, and sides, dressed in navy blue uniforms with epaulets as well as white shield-shaped badges on their shoulder blades. Intimately hovering above one of each of the body’s arms is also a red-splashed silver, slim board about the length of the forearm curved about the arm with rounded edges and a black glassy ball at the head above the wrist most of which are dipped in the puddles. The bodies are only illuminated in random streaks of light that pass through the blood soaked walls, although some of them are visibly mutilated as arms and entire torsos lay detached to the rest of the bodies. Many of them, while wearing blue which doesn’t cover their faces and hands which instead reveal their faces of brown shades, are coated in crimson with gashes and streaks over their bodies and necks. A few heads are carved open, splitting bits over the red floor.

Again the same male voice announces over the broadcast, “REPORTS INDICATE THAT THE BREACH OCCURRED IN ANICETUS A12, HOWEVER REPORTS ALSO INDICATE THAT IT WAS DONE AS A MALICIOUS ACT OF FORCE TO RAID THE FACILITY!!”

A white badge has the icon of a cyan circle with a cluster of smaller blue circles placed close to one another in a pattern that presents the vague shape of a bird with spread wings, although the badge in particular has a dark red gash over the bird, exposing an open wound.

Above the icon at the top center of the shield badge is text in a concise cyan font which reads: ‘OSD,’ although some of the writing is harder to make clear due to the wound.

After a few audible desperate gasps of air, the same male voice swallows and elaborates, “CURRENTLY THE RAIDING ENTITY IS IN D6, MOVING UP POTENTIALLY TOWARDS THE BRIDGE! I HAVE GOTTEN NOTICE THAT IT HAS DISPOSED OF THE SECURITY PATROLS FROM A TO D WITH LETHAL FORCE, AND I HAVE CLASSIFIED THIS THREAT AS A TIER B!”

In another reddened hallway, a row of uniformed and armed bodies sit against the left wall, although every single one has an open neck, for the heads are instead littered across the floor, their black and brown hairs wet from the red puddles.

Ropes of intestines sway back and forth from the ceiling with even less light as the prior room due to an increase of coverage over the walls. The slimy sounds of the intestines grazing one another is largely overshadowed by the continuation of the sirens however.

Following up the transmission, the voice warns with a shaky voice, “We aren’t sure what the motive is, all we know is that the entity is incredibly hostile and dangerous. We have deployed lethal resistance, however it does not appear that our methods have succeeded. The entity is moving quickly, and we have locked down the whole facility in a Red Level, and all our forces are mobilized on the entity’s path. Still, I don’t know how much we have lef-,”

Just then a second voice interjected, a deeper voice although still frightened as discernable in its wavering tone, “Houston…we have a problem. He’s only a few ports off, we need to move farther back, sir.”

On the ground of another hallway, an isolated jaw lays on the red floor, red strands of vessels amongst the ripped up skin. Only a few slim rays of light graze the jaw, shining on the bright teeth between the gums,

Over the transmission, Houston’s voice switches to a more confident, authoritarian tone, asserting back: “We are safe where we are, we must stand our ground or this entire stronghold will be taken.”

Just then, in the broadcast, other voices became faintly audible, not just one other but instead a whole choir who rather than speaking discernable sentences instead wail and squeal. Their cries mix with the siren into a more haunting alarm, which plays into the transmission uninterrupted for several seconds.

It is then interrupted by the reinforcing insistent voice of the second man, who implores earnestly, “Sir, we need to go.”

Recording live, pairs of heavy footsteps accompanied with heavy breathing play over the sirens and screaming, although similarly to the sirens the screaming doesn’t grow any quieter rather only gradually loudens as the source appears to only be growing nearer.

With greater volume adapts evolving clarity, and with the additional lucidity invites new sounds played in rapid constant succession, high pitched shrieks resembling laser fire.

Closer, on the silver floor of another hallway, decently well lit, moderately darkens from the center outward by the movement of a shadowy row similarly to a landscape being overtaken by a stormy cloud as the sound of liquid pours.

At the same time, the silver surface becomes flooded by a red wave creeping from the edges inward, covering up the spotless well maintained flooring by those who preserve them. As the reverberating concoction grows, it’s mixture does too in complexity for new sounds join in, although differently from all others they are not consistent but rather in succession they’re substantially diverse all but for the similarities in the undertones of mechanisms or metal, as in that mix are sounds of metal brandishing and motors exercising before being followed up with even the roars of rocket propulsion.

Nearer to the origin of the red wave that has swept the floor, submerged half in the warm crimson substance lays an entity shaped similarly to a tadpole, a white spherical squishy head with a red tail, and on the head is a blue face with a black dot in the center. After a few distant motorized whirs amongst more screaming, the distinct sound of a chain unraveling grows louder at a far greater rate, swiftly overtaking all other sound until reaching its climatic peak where it wraps and clings, to which a deafeningly proximate shriek of Houston blares.

Immediately after the cry is a sharp chain tug followed by an abrupt drop, and then a constant screeching slide. As the final row of light abandons the detached eyeball on the floor, the voice of the second man shouts, “HOUSTON!” before then being followed up by much louder and consequently crisper laserfire.

Mixed with the screeching, Houston commands with a desperate cry, “REGROUP WITH THE OTHER PERSONNEL IN G, SECURE THE CONSOLE!”

He then, maintaining the desperation in his voice as his life fleets before his eyes, uses the final moments to conclude the report: “WAIT, I CAN SEE THE THREAT, IT’S JUST ONE MAN, LIKELY EXHUMAN-...wait…it’s him…SEND REINFORCEMENTS IMMEDIATELY TIER A IT’S HIM IT’S HIM IT’S-,” before the swift sound of a swaying axe making contact abruptly silences the voice, ending the transmission as well as pausing all other sounds of agonizing screams and weaponry, leaving only the mere cry of the siren to continue.

With perfect clarity only one set of heavy breathing exerts itself over the screams and sirens, mixed with louder heavy footsteps of black boots on the metal silver surface between the silver walls still pure.

Down the hall sprints a dark skinned man with a buzzcut dressed in the same navy blue uniform with the white shield shoulder epaulets. He pants heavily with sweat pouring down the side of his head, wide brown eyes gazing straight ahead as he swings his arms back and forth, his left arm wielding the same silver contraption with the black ball tip, although cleaner than the ones further back.

Turning a corner into another long silver corridor leading to a distant wider room, in the man’s vision ahead are several clusters of other adults men and women all identically clothed in the blue uniforms all with the defining white epaulets. In the front of each cluster, all of which are spread down the hallway, several of the guards have one knee on the ground, leaving space above for the guards behind to get a clear line of sight in the same direction.

Every single guard is also armed with the silver device, and they all have their armed arm aimed forward down the hallway, and upon the man’s entrance they all shift aim to him to which he immediately freezes with wide eyes and raises his hands in a desperate sign of alliance.

For a few seconds as the sirens ring, every black ball is aimed straight at the uniformed man, the device entirely still although the arms of those wielding them are visibly shivering. The uniformed man does not dare make a move, knowing just how volatile each of the weapons are given the paranoia amongst the team. He instead stands perfectly still, keeping his arms down to point his weapon on the ground, his gaze straight into the crowd in silent assurance.

Slowly the guards begin to shift their aim as a result of the calming atmosphere, diverting the ball away from the man who is a clear ally. Just as they make the slightest nudge, a heavy clang of chains echo through the corridor, to which every single human freezes still.

Only a couple seconds later, another clang of chains reverberates, sourced from the hall the guard had run out of, and upon hearing the ring amongst the sirens the man glances backwards with a petrified face drenched in sweat.

From the corner of the corridor intersecting with the guarded one, past the security down their line of sight, nothing moves, not another being ahead, not a flicker of the walls, nothing. And yet, even with no movement, another clang of chains emit from the corner, the same clang, the same chains.

Several seconds later, another chime of chains from the motionless corner of the bright room, from a source not seen, from an origin not traced.

Again, overpowering a few soft flaming breezes and gentle whooshes passing below is another creepy pair of rings of chains, hauntingly echoing throughout the facility among the blaring sirens, noticeably getting louder over the previous iterations.

No end to the clangor, the guard no longer being aimed at cautiously traces backwards, making slow movements while keeping his gaze straight ahead, not moving his sight for even a second’s fraction. His breathing is slow yet heavy, sweat still profusely dripping down his head both from the exercise but majorly from the foreboding sense in his chest.

At the head of the front cluster are the patrols aiming their spherical points at the intersection, their devices entirely still as they’re not attached to their arms albeit very close, but far enough to remain unaffected from the shaking arms of the men and women who keep wide eyes ahead while the man they removed their aim off of creeps past them.

Further back on their feet are more guardians deeper down the hall, staring down the center of their weapon past the black globe at the end. Sweat drips down their temples as more clangs echo down the hall, getting louder with every repetition amongst the statically volumed sirens, for as they get louder the entity grows nearer. All the security maintain aim as the other man passes them, moving farther in the back while facing the same direction as the rest.

That direction has not changed, for it is the one facing the intersection, the source of the previous clangs. Peculiarly however the clangs stop reverberating, for instead right when it seemed they’d climax instead they just collapsed, halting abruptly and strangely.

In the center of the hall before the room, between the lanes of guards primed with their weapons hot, the man comes to a stop after noticing the sudden conclusion. He remains standing as he slowly raises his own device, aiming it up with the rest in silence for he could not think of any alternative actions. There was both no reason to run yet every reason for preparation, a paradoxical conundrum that froze his feet in place.

Sirens remain crying with no distinctive sounds ahead. No more screams, no more gunfire, no more blades, no more chains. Nothing but sirens, the same sirens that have become monotonous from their extended usage, the same rises and the same dives, but it was all the same. Just a typical silver corridor with a typical intersection, watched by the typical security on a typical shift all stationed in place.

An abrupt highly pitched vacuum sound activates from below the floor where a great portion below the front guards’ feet crumble in, causing all of those standing over to fall into the holes before they begin screaming in immediate agony mixed with heavy metal grinding as red liquid begins spurting out from the ground beneath them like a garden sprinkler which sprays the men and women right at the edge.

Those in the back watch in perplexed petrification through splashed faces as their comrades wail while their bodies gradually sink into the ground, their hearts jumping as do their eyes and arms, aiming their globes at the vast rift formed right below them.

From feet to head, the guardians drown in a pit that exerts a powerful suctioning vacuum above, leading everything into an array of large spinning gears that grind up their bodies, shredding them mercilessly as they can’t retaliate, for their only action was screaming in excruciation beyond anything they’ve ever felt.

Eventually the last of the vanguard is silenced as their head is inserted into the grinder, which spits shredded guts of their brain mixed with over shredded internal organs sauced with blood back out onto their allies, who are stuck in place, only able to stand their ground and stare down with red faces at the contraption placed right below them without their realization.

In disbelief the man who nearly made his escape gazes at the grinder under the floor, far back enough to not have been washed red like the allies in front but still within proximity to be flooded by horror as his jaw is dropped without a word able to pass through.

Blood soaked gears rest under the floor composing the grinder, and those red gears gleam brighter in the same color as they suddenly burst into red flames which then promptly die out, leaving behind the sight of the lower tiles of the floor with guts dipped in red.

The ashes of the fire rise up from beneath the floor, and above where the ashes ascend stands the crimson devil dressed in the dark suit with dark silver metallic guards on its shoulders drenched in crimson blood as was the rest of the suit and bright red streaks pouring down its body emitting from the insignia on its chest shaped similarly to an eraser. It glares forwards with bright red eyes through the black mask with a wide curved vent over the jaw resembling an uncanny smile from ear to ear all underneath the dark hood that continues the mask’s eye streaks in the shape of goat horns. Its demonic cape waves behind its body which stands in the center of the hall, motionless as the obsidian-like chains around its neck sit silently.

“FIRE!” shrieks one of the female guards behind those drenched in their comrades, and she aims her device’s ballpoint at the devil to which the black ball flashes, projecting a black bolt through the ball and into the target.

That black bolt strikes the upper chest of the devil, absorbed into the crimson scales, yet the devil doesn’t falter. Instead, it remains standing, unharmed, for instead its arms wrapped in more chains emit more red flames.

All together the security open fire, all of their device’s ballpoints projecting bolts as though it’s a barrel, firing in rapid succession all at their one target. Those in the front drop to their knees to give sight for their allies behind, maximizing fire concentrated on a singular entity as the screeching cries of gunfire drown out the sirens.

Again, the sound of chains clang.

Ultimately the devil begins to take steps forward, absorbing the black hellfire with not a stagger, for instead it moves confidently as if it’s entirely undamaged. It strolls down the corridor while red flames from its left arm race to the wide pit formed by the crumbled floor, and the fire spreads across the pit before transmuting into a dark metal board that perfectly allows for traversal over.

Concurrently the flames from its right arm dive into the ground, and from the fire emerge a vast swarm of miniature black insectoid bots with innumerable tiny legs that carry it over the newly built floor with terrifying speed, moving together with such quantity that they nearly appear like a liquid.

On their knees, firing with no break, the frontal guards start losing focus when the swarm reaches their boots where they then crawl up their legs in bulk, covering their legs black as they continue to race up their bodies.

Covered in fear the guards leap off the ground with screeches, thrashing their arms aimlessly as they halt fire to try warding off the insectoids which reach up their torso and continue towards their face, each one biting the guard’s body with minor nibbles which accumulate in an agonizing manner.

Staggering back and forth the guards collapse one by one as their faces are consumed by the swarm, eaten up while the devil continues to take steps forwards with every step clanging the chains around its neck, walking down its short bridge.

Another line of security gone, those remaining begin to take steps backwards and continue their fire, hoping to surpass the devil’s limit. Their target however propels another wide burst of flames which dives but then bolts down the corridor covering the whole floor past the next line of guards, leaving behind what appears to be a dark gray carpet of sorts which a few of the security find themselves standing on, which at first they don’t find threat in.

Those guards in the front remaining in the center of the corridor continue to lay heavy fire as the carpet below them begins to slide similarly to a treadmill although the right half moves to the right and the left moves opposite. At first unnoticed, the guard’s legs begin to slide in opposing directions, being pulled outwards.

As the devil gets closer, the security’s bodies get lower to the ground as their legs bend more, and alas they begin to take notice and glance down with initially perplexed glances while trying to move their legs but to surprisingly no avail, for instead they appear stuck to the carpet, glued on even. Their legs continue to spread and they start to shout in concern, calling to their comrades behind who glance at them with worry.

Some of them begin to groan in pain as they're brought lower than what they’re comfortable with, but even when they’re all brought to the ground in splits their feet continue to move away from each other, pulling their body past their limit.

From behind the guards watch in terror as their allies in front wail and shriek in agony as their bodies are pulled from both sides, and they watch the guards in splits have their crotches begin to split too which pour out blood, ripping in two as they cry horribly while the rift travels up their body, splintering their entire body slowly which reveals internal guts as they’re opened like books, unable to move their feet off the treadmill.

Up the torso and neck, their bodies fracture with strands coming undone in their bodies, vessels pulled apart and more puddles forming from their divergence. Finally the breach reaches their head, pulling their skulls apart into two, exposing their brains cut straight through the center separating both hemispheres which conclude their agonizing wails and finally break their bodies in half, both ends being dragged to the walls of the corridor before the carpet beneath them vanishes in flames too.

At more rapid rates the remaining security backtrack down the hall away from the devil whose pace remains unchanged. They keep firing but to clearly no effect regardless of the proven effects these Anti-Exmatter lasers should have on these types of beings, for in their hands are the pinnacles of anti-superhuman defense and yet here they were being entirely incapable of even pushing back the threat.

One of the guards even turns her back on the devil and begins sprinting the other way to the end of the hall, crying desperately to get away as the one she seeks distance peculiarly aids him by projecting a wide flame which similarly to before races down the corridor like a carpet and passes the woman’s feet, only to manifest into a gray sliding carpet functioning as a moving walkway which propels her further away to seemingly freedom.

That is until another, much larger, flame passes the woman and reaches the end of the walkway, where it shapes into what appears to be a large wall taller than the woman. It transforms into a silver contraption full of holes similar to a grater, which oddly enough rolls both up and down automatically like an automated cheese grater, making a mechanical belt sound.

Right on the path of the walkway, the woman is flung into the grater, and she immediately screams as her body is pressed against the contraption which rubs against her body, gradually peeling her as skin strings begin to fall off her body down on the ground by her feet. Unable to evade as the moving walkway keeps her body pushing against the automated grater, she can only cry helplessly as her body is gradually shredded up, tearing through her exposed tissue and leaving a bloody trail on the walkway.

While the woman’s body is pushed through the grater, gradually slimming it into nothing, behind follows the devil who projects more flames which summon a barrage of the signature viking axes which are automatically flung into several more guards, chopping limbs and heads off all simultaneously, littering the silver floor with more severed body parts.

One of the guards lost his feet and arms, and he screams in excruciating pain, unable to tend to his wounds for all he can do is remain lying on the ground.

He winces as a shadow of a man draws above him, to which facing up he moves his head to gaze at what has come before him, and over the devil’s silver shoulders his eyes shoot wide open in heart stopping fright.

That fright evolves into something that cannot be described so simply with words when he watches one of the dark silver boots, wrapped with chains, rise up and hover over his body, specifically above his pelvic region, and on the bottom of the boot is the razor sharp, blackened and jagged sole pointing right at him.

In a hesitant stutter, he gently beseeches, “Wait..no no, god please don’t-,” before breaking into a grievous scream from the boot’s heavy plant straight on his crotch followed by the explicit sound of meat being squished, as the man tries to lean up with his hips but without arms he’s unable to retaliate.

What was defined as the Superverse’s mightiest, most powerful force of justice who held an impenetrable shield against all those who seek to threaten them and their people was now being slaughtered mercilessly without difficulty, for the man who thought he escaped can only watch with a dropped jaw in a petrified expression.

In front of the man was best could be dubbed as carnage, as red flames spawn sentry turrets which fire grids of lasers that slice groups into perfect cubes, powerful wind turbines on the ceiling which pull guards off their feet and straight into a speeding fan which splurts their guts all over the floor as their bodies are minced at an instant, and wide hovering trays that span the corridor which guardians trip over, falling into apertures at the top to which they squall helplessly as their bodies are slowly devoured into the openings which emit loud whirs and shred the bodies like paper effortlessly, leaving strands of bodily guts and cloth uniform to fall out from below the tray and litter the floor.

Umpteen amounts of bolts had successfully struck the devil, but not one inch did it set the beast back. Standing in the center of the corridor, facing the red monster as it tears through his comrades without even raising his hands, the survivor dreadfully watches more bodies drop to the floor, either sliced into multiple pieces, detached of its vital organs, or contorted into unnatural shapes.

He steps back while watching one of the men by the front lines spin around and desperately begin sprinting down the hallway, charging towards him, flailing his arms back and forth while wailing cowardly. Only a few seconds after taking off however, he is surrounded by multiple curving streams of red flames that form an intricate wireframe around him which then fully form into a long twisted silver rail which traps the man with no room to even take a step in any direction.

Along the complex rail are a myriad of short yet sharp blades connected to the rail by a ball pivot, and upon being fully manifested the ball pivots begin to rotate the blades towards the man, plunging them into the trapped man’s skin, to which he squeals in pain.

Not only that, but then all of the blades begin to move along the rail system, still deeply penetrating the man’s skin, tracing cuts all over his body to which he cries out in anguish, unable to escape as all of the blades traverse around his body, from his back to around his legs and his neck.

The more cuts that are made to the body, the more flaps of skin begin to peel off, exposing tissue underneath.

In front of the survivor, the guard trapped in rails howls as chunks of his skin roll off his body, for the blades only travel faster with time to more quickly cut the body of the attempted runaway while the devil passes him to continue his march.

In only a few seconds, every last piece of skin rolls off the body, leaving the skinned man alive in agony, surrounded by the flaps of his body on the floor.

Only one option was presented: run.

Turning away from the massacre, the survivor begins to sprint down the hallway, throwing his arms back and forth as he passes more security, making his way to the end of the hall while trying to get around his comrades being slaughtered behind him. He winces as he hears cries and shrills from fellow men and women whose bodies are pulled from opposite directions by magnetic poles manifested against the walls which consequently rip them in half while others become entangled by long wires that coil around their body before tightening like a snake, using a hellish tenacity to squeeze their arms enough that bones fracture, and eventually reach their limits so much so that their bodies pop like a balloon.

More guards take notice of the runaway, and choosing life over honor they turn around and begin sprinting down the hall with him, desperately clinging to safety away from the monster. Four others accompany the survivor, making their way to the room at the end of the corridor as the final few fighters fall.

Miraculously the survivor runs through the open doorway exiting the hallway and entering the next room, with transparent walls that provide a view of the isolative cosmos, the black void filled with unreachable white stars.

Walking towards a woman whose body is covered with syringes in such perverse manner with an appearance of excessive acupuncture, the devil keeps his pace as her body explodes, splattering red all over the corridor and the one marching forwards.

Its blood-soaked cape continues to wave as it walks through the explosion, continuing towards the end of the corridor where the few runaways are as there is not one other unharmed guard, for all the others still alive are either on the ground or consumed by another tortuous contraption.

The devil keeps its pace towards the survivors, watching two others enter the room, and the final two nearly through the doorway.

That is when at last an arm is lifted, for the monster raises his right hand up, which produces a red flame. He then throws his arm forwards as the flame elongates in effect and materializes into a long running chain of jagged links.

At the tail end of the runaways, the last guard watches his ally run through the doorway, for now it is only him who is left to get out of the hall. In front of him is freedom, the room with the full screen displaying the void outside, and along the edges of the room are a few tables with machinery and boxes on them.

In the center of the room is a circular table as well which has a few green light dots emitting off the slim edge, and also emitting from the table albeit the surface is a grand curved holographic monitor currently displaying what appears to be a map of the solar system.

Last to reach safety, the man thrashes his arm aimlessly and desperately cries, “SEAL THE DOOMSDAY DOORS!”

Inside the room, both of the men after the initial survivor face the wall beside the doorway, which is the only that isn’t a screen, for instead there are two panels on each side of the doorway that emit flat holograms displaying a menu similar to a remote with a manifold of buttons of different shapes and sizes, one button in particular being a noticeably larger red one.

Both men simultaneously hit the particular red button, and once they do, heavy metal barriers begin to slide in from the doorway vertices in a closing diamond, making a heavy rusting sound for they’re composed of multiple layers accumulating to about a foot thick, designed with such immense fortification that they can’t be closed traditionally.

Last guard alive in the hallway, the final survivor runs in through the heavy doors, managing to get through easily due to the slow process of their closure. He smiles with relief and lets out a heavy sigh, feeling a heavy weight lifted off his chest.

That aforementioned chain reaches the last guard’s right ankle, and wraps around them.

Just as the guard made it to safety, his body was suddenly yanked backwards by the chain leading all the way up to the red beast strolling past the gory hallway. He screams as his feet fly off the ground, his entire body being flung back.

With rapid reflex the man who entered before him manages to grab onto his left arm, tugging with a groan as he pulls as hard as he can, which suspends the final survivor in the air, halfway in the room and half in the hall, although he’s slowly being pulled back as the man tugging him slides towards the door, unable to compete alone.

Taking immediate notice to the dilemma, the man on the left springs into action and grabs the survivor’s right arm, also tugging their comrade, and miraculously the extra strength is adequate to preventing him from being pulled back any farther, for he fully is stopped in the air, tugged from both ends but not traveling towards either.

However, the heavy doors continue to close, even though the man is in the path, his waist right in the doorway, suspended perfectly horizontally. He doesn’t move back or forth, and while it’s desired that he isn’t dragged back into the hall where the beast is, his current position isn’t any more safe.

“PULL!” shouts one of the men tugging on their comrade, as both exert all the strength they have in their body, clenching their teeth to bring their ally to their side. They pivot their bodies and pull, trying to curl their arms to drag him in.

Closer the door is to shut.

Silently, the devil in the hall strolls with only one hand gripping the chain, tugging it tightly yet seemingly effortlessly, the chain at the perfect length that it’s completely straight with tension that could’ve been enough to be cut given if the chains were. It however grips the chain with the other hand to slowly pull it back thus reel the man in, shortening the chain to maintain the tension.

Closer the door is to shut.

Suspended midair, bent to the power of those pulling for him without the ability to make a difference himself, the man stares up at his comrades with desperate, terrified eyes, the eyes of a man who had dreams, aspirations, plans, a life to live past this day, a future he looked forward to, watching that all slowly burn up right in front of him.

Closer the door is to shut.

At last, it shuts.

Inside the corridor, the devil silently gazes as the two legs of his prey are flung back, the right one held by the chain but the left one detached, causing the two to separate further as they’re not attached together.

Both legs fall on the ground by the silver boots, blood pouring out of them as the chain holding the right one is erased in red flames. The devil then passes the severed legs apathetically, not having changed its pace for it keeps steadily marching towards the closed heavy door, the chains around its neck clanging as the sole sound amongst the sirens for not one cry is made.

On the other side, both men fly backwards by the sudden release of tension, both letting go of their comrade’s arms as they collapse to the ground, groaning in perplexion as the other two standing stagger back, shook by the abrupt fall. They both raise their weapons to the door in frantic forebode, the only sound now on their end being the sirens warning them of imminent disaster.

On the ground, the two men who tried to tug now gasp for air, exhausted from the strenuous work as their hands cling to the floor, keeping them up. While they did succeed in keeping their ally from the corridor, neither of them feels particularly confident, as the left one glances back at the other two who wear horrified faces, and the other glances at the guard they were attempting to save before his expression immediately depresses.

In front of the four men is the last man who managed to reach the room, but only half did, for his entire body below the hips is entirely absent, pouring liquid out as guts hang out openly, laying on the ground.

Extraordinarily the man groans, revealing himself to be alive, to which the right man shuffles up and throws himself to his injured ally, immediately grabbing him with both hands and pulling him away from the door, tearing off guts that were stuck.

Without hesitation while holding up his comrade he places his free left hand over the top of his silver weapon, causing it to dematerialize thereby relinquishing his defense.

Then he holds out his right hand, and a light shines over his palm before materializing a device that appears similar to a white towel.

Desperately he uses the towel to cover up the last man’s aperture, sealing off the wound by wrapping the towel over while he exclaims, “John, get up and cover the door!”

Next to the guard helping his anguished companion, the other man who tried to help pull shuffles up to his feet, swiftly following the order and nodding his head. He staggers backwards and raises his weapon to the door, standing to the right of the door’s edge for a stealth angle, aiding the other two guards all keeping watch on the heavy impenetrable enclosure.

Kneeling on the ground, the guard holding the towel clings tightly to his comrade, watching the towel’s edges flash blue before oddly clinging onto the edges of the comrade’s wound automatically, tightly sealing the injury as it appears technologically advanced. Once it forms the seal, the whole towel then begins to emit a faint green light which pulses softly, implying operation to maintain life support.

After taking notice of the success, the man on the ground assures in a shaken voice, “We’re going to be alright, Matt, don’t you worry. These doors will save us, eventually he’ll give up, and even if he somehow finds a way we’ll stop him. Just hang in there bud, just hang in there and everything will be alright.”

Held in the arms of his companion, the survivor Matt can only muster groans, too fatigued to even form sentences as his head is tilted down, facing the door rather than his allies.

Through blurry, hardly open vision, Matt fixates his sight on the guts littered out on the floor, his entire lower body nowhere to be seen. Even if he were to survive this nightmare, his life would never truly be the same, for he could never be wholly human again. He stares at the pieces of internal string hanging out of the wall, such a grotesque sight to see himself spread out in such an inhumane manner.

He blinks slowly and through all the strength he has he manages to raise and turn his head, gazing up at his ally who despite his shameful abandonment of his post still sought to save at least one of his allies. Through foggy sight he watches his companion take notice of the gaze, and return it with his own, keeping him in his arms. He warmly smiles with reassurance, knowing Matt’s tragic pain but trying to carry him ahead.

Then a red beam of light strikes Matt’s savior in the head, and in an instant his entire head flashes red and expands abruptly before bursting in a red explosion that splatters his brain everywhere, leaving only part of the neck attached to the rest of the body which limply slumps down.

Intense shouting of horror and dread uproar over the sirens as Matt glances around to the door which has a bright hot red hole in the center with smoke emitting out of the tight aperture. Just then, a hard bang reverberates from the other side of the door, as though someone was attempting to slam into it. Another hard bang follows, this time louder as the shouting silences in anticipation. More bangs continue, one after another, persistent bangs that get louder with each iteration.

Again is a hard bang, but this time through the impenetrable door the bright hot red blade of the viking axe penetrates through, its edge poking out through the foot of artificial metal designed specifically to combat such strikes. The guard by the door, John, watches aghast as the blade is reeled back through the hole, and moments later it then penetrates through, making another right beside it with a different angle and being pulled back in.

Visibly shaking with his weapon raised, ready to fire at any moment, he witnesses another slice through the door, and then another, as over and over again the axe manages to cut straight through the heavy metal at different angles despite its strength. The blade slides back, and for a few moments, it remains absent, leaving seconds of silence below the sirens.

Straight through the door the axe emerges through, causing John to jump, unable to contain his own fright, but what is far more frightening is that upon the final slash an entire chunk of the wall simply slides forwards, for all the slashes had carved a gap in the door.

Slowly the chunk slides before it fully exits the door and slides off.

Off slides the carved chunk of the door a foot thick, and as it collapses to the ground, an opening is exposed between the room and hall.

Through that opening is one sight.

Those terrifying red eyes on the black mask stalking straight inside.

On the other side of the door, the devil simply raises his right leg, and as he does the jagged sole of his boot begins to heat up, turning bright red as power is concentrated into the mineral. He then slowly pivots his body as the bright red sole starts to spark, and after completing the pivot, he holds his position for an elongated moment.

Suddenly the sole bursts into red flames, and the devil throws his foot straight into the door with a hard kick given a red trail of excess energy. The kick immediately sets off a much louder bang than previously, and is promptly followed by rattling of the edges.

Guarding the side of the door, John watches speechlessly as the final line of defense begins to tip over, for the entire door breaks off of its edges, separating into one isolated board which falls forwards.

John lowers his head, and watches as held by the corpse of his comrade, Matt raises his head weakly right as it as well as the rest of his body is crushed under the heavy door, and the loud splat is more than confirmation of the result, helped by the abundance of crimson splatter bleeding out of the door from both bodies consumed.

Thick dust emerges out through the doorway first from the brute destruction of the door, clouding the gates between hell and haven, leaving little for John to aim at.

Both of the other remaining guards as the final three stand side by side in front of the door, their legs painted with their allies due to the close proximity. Both of them keep their weapons pointing at the fog in the doorway, waiting in silence for something to emerge.

One of the guards in front of the door wears a tensely primed face, geared for vengeance, while the one beside him, the original survivor, is clearly more apprehensive, his body shaking more as he doesn’t appear as confident.

Silence but for the sirens, the fog rolls into the room from the entrance, blinding the sight of what could be beyond.

Then, the chains clang, and a silhouette appears in the fog.

Then, again the chains clang, and the silhouette steps forward, emerging from the dust, soiled in the blood of its prey, glaring through red devilish eyes as its cape waves victoriously, for even though it has not finished its mission it has already won.

“LIGHT HIM UP!” shouts John before firing rapid streams of black bolts into the devil’s side, and at the same time so does one of the guards right in front, both unloading as much as they can onto their own uncatchable target.

Although the original survivor at the front of the door oddly does not fire, for his shivering body and shaken mind forbids it. The fear having reached him fully, he’s unable to move a muscle, unable to stand with his brothers, unable to fight back, reducing the firepower by an entire third when he has a clear line of sight.

Unbothered again by the two streams of black bolts designed by the state of the art private research corporation and distributed to the government for neutralizing beings with the power of god, the devil simply marches forward despite absorbing all the strikes.

While John screams dramatically, keeping aim on the target, that target holds both of his hands out which then secrete flames that manifest into an axe in its right hand, but connected to the end of the axe’s handle is a long chain which sits in its hand.

What happens next is all in an instant, so fast that it’s nearly imperceivable.

Off the ground leaps the devil towards the man firing him in front of his eyes while simultaneously it throws its chain at John.

That chain wraps around John’s throat tightly, and immediately is suspended with maximum tension, holding him like a leash.

Concurrently the devil throws its axe forwards at a sharp angle, right at the other guard firing at him, causing it to spin rapidly while pulling the chain.

At the very instant that the axe slices entirely through the guard’s throat, splattering blood as the head is pulled off, the chain connected to it rips off John’s neck, which also erupts in blood while the head departs its body.

Simultaneously both heads fly off their bodies, John’s and the other guard, their faces both tenacious for they spent their final moment believing they could seize victory. But instead, their heads are flung off their volcanic necks, so fast that they couldn’t see it coming.

Half of his face splattered by his comrade, the final survivor stands completely still, panting heavily as the body next to him limply collapses to the ground.

While still panting, the last guard standing slowly lowers his head, unable to even act against the target right in front of him.

By the final survivor’s foot is one of the guard’s head, which rolls to the side before being stopped, as well as John’s head which also rolls before stopping, both of them stopping perfectly to face each other in front of their fallen corpses.

Only able to hyperventilate, the last guard just stands frozen, helplessly watching the devil approach him with calm strolls, its chains bouncing off its chest.

At last the devil stops, right in front of him, its face not a full foot away before it faces him.

All that the survivor can see is the closeup face of the devil, glaring straight at him with fiery eyes, and being so up close it’s noticeable that there is splatter on the black mask, but not only that there are small strands of guts slowly dripping off its face.

Despite all the honor it is to hold the position he has, the survivor winces and lowers his head, bowing down and quietly cadging, “Please…spare my life…please…I’ll do anything…whatever you want…just tell me…please I can’t leave Logan…his wife and child passed away last year…I’ve been the only person he has…I can’t abandon my brother….”

Creepily the devil just keeps glaring into the survivor’s eyes, staring straight into his soul in silence, bringing its face slightly closer which causes the survivor to shut their eyes tightly, preparing for another quick death.

Menacingly it stares with a silent but roaring intensity, for those words spoken had uniquely irked the beast enough to pause its march and single out this one man above the crowd of those it slaughtered without a second thought.

This one man however standing before it, he was the first to mean something. He had ascended beyond another blade of grass to step on, he had struck an unholy cord that put him in this uncomfortable position, being faced down with those terrifying red eyes that for once saw someone.

Then, the devil faces ahead and moves forward.

Without a single word spoken to conclude the conversation, the devil continues its march past the survivor, making its way to the central table where the large holographic monitor stands.

Its slow trudging steps combined with the clanging of chains keeps the survivor still, but what helps more is the fire that secrets from the devil’s back, which wraps around the final survivor and builds a metal frame that locks his arms and legs in place, prohibiting his movement while another stream of fire reaches in front of the survivor and builds a large barrel connected to a tube that then connects to a face mask that’s placed on the final guard by force.

In front of the last survivor, the barrel with many gallons of capacity has a transparent casing to display an ominous and unappetizing brown liquid nearly filling the barrel up, however the liquid immediately begins to slowly deplete as it’s being drained from the clear tube which is then filled with the same brown concoction.

Fed by the tube, the last survivor attempts to scream but is muffled heavily by the mask which projects the liquid straight into his open mouth which the mask prevents him from closing, forcing the liquid into his body.

He keeps trying to cry and shout, but to no avail, as he’s force fed the discomforting drink while behind him the devil stops in front of the table and holds its hand up to which a blue flash of light strikes its palm.

In the palm of the devil’s hand appears the familiar small device resembling a pregnancy test, with the panel already shining green to indicate it has successfully completed extraction. The device is clenched tightly by the dark silver hand with finger wrapped by smaller slimmer chains, and the hand then opens up again.

While muffled cries continue behind, the devil holds the device up towards the screen, which then reverberates a deep hum.

Taking the alert, the devil relinquishes the device and steps back, watching it levitate in place, held still by the computer.

Only a second later the screen introduces a popup window with the bold text: ‘REGISTERED AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL IN ROOM,’ before a second popup window appears above it, reading: ‘INTERPRETING REQUEST TO EGA LVL 9 ACCESS KEY . . .’

An entire gallon depleted, the barrel continues to feed the brown liquid through the tube into the mask where it’s then consumed by the last survivor, hooked up to the frame, used to grant authorization while held against his will, unable to move and forced to consume quantities beyond advisable servings, filling him up and extending beyond comfort.

All he can do in resistance however is sob, and even that is muffled, his attempts to persuade a humanity failed due to the assumption that there was any underneath those crimson scales. But rather than his comrades before him who were put out of their misery instantaneously, whether scorched instantly or decapitated before they realized what would happen, he instead was put through the slow torture, unable to even be gifted a painless demise, forced to suffer even more shame beyond abandoning his post. In his wails, his stomach begins to gradually expand, for his entire body slowly starts to fatten.

At last on the large holographic screen, both popups descend before a third one appears, announcing boldly: ‘ACCESS KEY GRANTED.’

Ultimately the devil grabs the device, and the humming stops as it’s no longer held up by the computer. All three popups vanish as behind in the distance a horde of heavy hasty footsteps drum up, for it appears a massive crowd was running their way. Among the footsteps is also distant shouting, phrases such as: “HE’S STILL HERE,” “SWITCH TO LETHAL,” and “GET TO THE CONSOLE ROOM!”

After an eternity, reinforcements seem to have arrived, yet regardless of the threat the devil keeps attention to the device in its hands, as the device projects once again a dark crimson holographic screen, this one being the similar text popup with the same format as prior, although with differing text as it now reads: ‘EGA LVL 9 ACCESS KEY AUTHORIZING . . .’

After the long journey, the screen finally is then replaced by a much larger three dimensional screen depicting a map of the solar system, just as before, with the larger globe at the center representing the supersun surrounded by a cluster of smaller globes representing Earths, exactly as it last was.

This time however, the map is then immediately and rapidly zoomed in towards the center, for after having spread its sights out over all the possibilities it could finally narrow them. The map relinquished the outer rim as it only concentrates on those closer to the center, zooming so much towards the center that even the Earth at the middle of the cluster isn’t needed on the screen, proving just how far the target is from home.

Eventually the map hones in not on the very origin but instead slightly offset, rather on one particular Earth that being third from the supersun, and the map then begins to contort in shape as it flattens while zooming into that Earth, forming a flat world map which further pores on the west side of North America specifically into the region that some worlds define as the state of California and the specific region of Los Angeles, and it continues seeking deeper until there are defined circles on the screen, one of which is centered on close enough that it then reveals much smaller circles with a network of basic lines connecting them all: the neighborhood.

The map then focuses on one dot in particular amongst the many, zooming close up to the simple shape which then oddly grows spherical, acquiring a third dimension and that sphere grows larger and is shaped like clay sculpture with a tube at the base and a widened uneven area at the top, all creating a shape resembling a tree of some sorts, but with specific linings in the tree as well as the arched door at the bottom of the trunk it becomes clear that it’s the townhouse, the one holding the target.

The tree grows larger and more transparent, revealing three distinct floors, one in the trunk and two others higher up, the hologram similar to a barbie house. In the central circular floor on one side are four constructs shaped as humanoids in motion, three of which are seated at a circular table with four chairs, and the other one in a different room with tables on cabinets resembling a kitchen, all of them appearing to converse with there even being visible platter on the table that one with particularly long hair eats from while another has shorter boyish hair and another is entirely bald.

What matters most however is that the humanoid in the kitchen room appears to be wearing some sort of biker jacket, and has four distinct locks of hair on an otherwise bald head.

The exact perfect description.

“There you are,” creepily mutters the devil, finally having found the precise location of its target, and with that the hologram vanishes, and next so does the device in a blue flash, being stored for tracking use later.

Just then the footsteps become crystal clear, coming straight from the other side of the doorway. The devil glances over with intrigue, and lowers both of its hands.

Through the unfogged doorway to the blood soaked corridor full of corpses in all varieties of dismemberment, a horde of men in black uniforms with helmets that conceal their heads run towards the room, all of them with gauntlets on their forearms with barrels at the end as well as hovering black spherical drones by their shoulder following them as shoulder cannons, for they appear more heavily armed than the previous guards.

Still being fed, the final guard notices the incoming reinforcements, and his eyes shoot wide open in terror. He then attempts to scream and shout, but his voice again is muffled.

At the front lines of the reinforcements, one of the soldiers in the center abruptly stops, to which all other soldiers promptly halt as well with perfect synchronization.

The one who stopped then raises his gauntlets up, and he shouts with a commanding voice, “Hold! There’s a hostage-...dear god what the hell?”

In front of all the reinforcements who stand in the corridor, the last guard hooked up to the feeding device has a noticeably inhuman shape, heavily bloated as his body is nearly spherical, his limbs and torso much wider than normal and on top of that it slowly expands. The only parts still skinny are those tightly gripped by the locks on his arms and legs, reducing flow in the grotesque image.

Trying to bawl through the muffling mask, the guard whose face is also heavily bloated stares with intense misery, put on show.

In front of the guard is the barrel which is nearly fully depleted, although there is still some liquid left being drained by the tube visible by the clarity of its material.

Howling as loud as he possibly can, the final guard roars through the mask right as the final drops of the barrel is depleted, and at that moment he becomes the cause of a great red explosion, splattering his bursted guts amongst his blood all over the room, including over the crimson suit of the being standing right behind, having been concealed by the fattened body.

What is also then further revealed during the vaporization of the feeding device and constraint frame is a colossal contraption right behind the being, a device with the shape of a plane turbine, with a gaping barrel that has several dark red streaks of light within to indicate technological additions. It sits over the remains of the destroyed table in the center of the room, facing the doorway.

Glaring through the blood soaked mask, the devil raises its hand up, facing it in the corridor’s direction.

Staring from the packed hallway, the soldiers stare straight at the device, and they all slightly lower their arms in comprehension of inevitability.

Inside the barrel of the turret flashes a bright orange light, and in the center of the barrel facing straight back while shining orange, the devil glares before suddenly soaring straight up in the air with a red streak at immense speeds, ramming straight through the ceiling which breaches a hole straight through, departing the room and stronghold.

As debris from the ceiling descends down after the collision, it is then immediately disintegrated by the titanic stream of fire that bursts out of the turbine.

Before a single soldier could even mutter a word, the whole hallway is immediately scorched as the massive stream of flames consumes the corridor, incinerating all of the soldiers alive in a second.

All of the bodies, dismembered and mutilated, ripped apart, laying on the ground with crushed genitalia, all of them are caught by the massive beast of fire that races down the corridor, consuming it all before then diverging into all separating paths.

Petrified screams of soldiers at other corridor’s ends who notice the bright flashes from the other end last not a full second before they’re swept up.

On the red puddle, the detached eyeball is melted by the flames.

On the red floor, the ripped jaw is dissolved in the fire.

On the red splatter, the bodies mutilated with carved heads burn in the blaze.

All of it, gone in an instant.

A faded memory.

Next is another faded memory slated to be torched.

And its location has been made known.