Read these words, if thoust still has eyes to see. Speak these words, if thoust tongue has not been tainted by the ashes of the world. Write these words, if thoust hand can hold pen rather than sword. And listen to these words, as others speak them, if thoust ears have not been deafened by the cries of the damned. And know, in mind and heart, that I speakst of the Slayer.
Slayer. What image does that word conjure within your mind? The Hell Walker. The Unchained Predator. The Doom Marine. What other word can, by in of itself, tell a story? Who does not know of he who walked the moons of fear and terror? Who plunged into Hell's warm heart, and stabbed thee? Who returned to world, amid fire and fury, and fought while others fled? Whost path led him to the depths of Hell, and killed the Mother of the spawn who had slain so many of Eden's children?
Who was it, thoust ask, whose path led him to Argent D'Nur? Who was taken among the ranks of the Night Sentinels, so that day may take them instead of dark? Who was given powers of god, only to be cast down in act of betrayal so vile, that the universe itself wept? Who found long rest in the Kadingir Sanctum, before being awakened by another who walked between worlds?
He, whose name we do not speak. He, whose name forever lost to us. Nameless awakening nameless…for indeed, what use are names to those without them? Without limit? Without mercy?
Who awakened to begin the holy rite, by which blood may again feed the soil of Mars? Who, fought against deluded damned twice, for in their ignorance, true knowledge was denied, and by attempted salvation of mankind, were cast to the fires they sought to master? Who, after walking the path long trod, was again betrayed?
Perhaps you know this story. But let it be told, while I still have mind yet my own, and those in worlds who may yet read or hear.
Who, you may asked, came above the burning Earth? Safe in the tree, poison on his blade, above world fallen to sin, where apples had long fallen? Who slew angel and demon both? Who, a god, bested a titan, as prophesized? Who would not stop, even in victory, for he walked path that was eternal? Doomed to tread brick by bloody brick, feed each stone with the blood of the guilty and innocent alike? Who was it, at long last, who sought to end it all?
He, who trod upon ship of ARC upon the sea – larger and sturdier than any built by a prophet, providing solace against flood more deep and vast than all the tears of the sky could muster. Who walked into Hell one final time, and betrayed he who had both blessed and betrayed the champion. He, who entered realm above all, seeking to resurrect the Dark Lord? Who was it, that trod this holy ground, now despoiled, who looked into the mirror, and saw the Abyss staring back? Who, in their hubris, their ignorance, their insanity, did battle with the Devil himself…
We know the name of Slayer. Know ye, who read this, that once, long ago, the name was carried by another. That he who was called Slayer did battle against the Armies of Doom, rather than lead them. That there was a blade who shod the blood of demon rather than mortal, spear who pierced Hell's breast rather than that of mortal realms, whose burning eyes directed fury against the Underworld, not on its behalf. Know, and mourn, for in knowledge is sorrow, and in sorrow wisdom, and in wisdom, the path by which you may walk until your end.
Slayer. He, who was Him, in Hell's world. He, who slew Him, in Hellish battle. He, who took His sword, shield, and shotgun, and claimed His weapons as His own. He, whose name was Dark Lord, Dark Prince, Dark God, and Davoth. He, who slew the betrayer, perhaps on His behalf. He, who returned to his Father, one final time. He, who took name of Slayer, and retrieved his sword, by which he leads once more.
He is Slayer. He is Warrior. He is Lord. It is by his hand that world once saved now burns. By his hand that all worlds will follow the same. He, who will not rest, until all worlds are as Hell. He, who walked the ship of the ARC, and spared only me, perhaps knowing I would write these words. Perhaps he saw me, as one he slew had before. Perhaps in glasses which I wear, he saw himself, and was given pause. What does the Devil see within the mirror? How does the Devil see, when all is but shattered glass?
I have my path to play in this. And when this body meets its end, when its soul comes to rest in Hell, as I scream against the dying of the light, I know that guilt will be my companion, and tears my wine. I will know blood as I have known water, despair as I have known hope, and sorrow as I have known joy. I will know this, and so too, you also.
Know that I have heard the voice of The Beast. Know that I have seen him at the forefront of Hell's armies – their greatest champion. Their greatest hope, and no longer their greatest fear. Know that he will not rest until all of the Father's works have been torn down. That the foundations of all realities will topple by his command. Know that I have seen, and heard, the lips of a serpent move, as he stood upon a mountain where an ark once rested. Where he prepared to once again kindle the flame. And know that, as he guided the spawn of Hell against the ruins of Eden, as he wore the mantle of Slayer, I will never forget his words, so echoed by his children…
"Rip and tear. Until it is done."