1Hello again, people! Today I have a more unusual story for you - the idea has been roaming in my mind for a few years now, but it wasn't until recently that I finally decided how exactly to realize it. It's more of a drama than an action story, though there is still a bit of demon slaying in there. After all, this is a Doom story ;)
Here we go. I have also left a few additional notes after the end - check them out if you enjoyed this fan fic.
In His Footsteps
a Doom story
by Lyubomir Ivanov (a.k.a. Vorknkx)
That dripping sound – it was unmistakable. Heavier than water, slick like a motor oil leak – dripping blood. The marine had become accustomed to this sound over the last few years as he had had to deal with way too many dead demons. Another battle had just concluded and the best thing was that he didn't have to clean up the mess. It was quite a pile and that dripping sound was coming from everywhere. Wait, there was something else – a groan of pain. What could that be? Oh, a surviving imp trying to crawl out from under a pile of his fallen brethren.
"No point in crying out," the marine growled as he started up the chainsaw. "It's just the two of us."
Well, he was all alone now. The battle was won, but he had gained nothing. He had done this so many times, over and over, but there was always another demonic fortress, dark temple, slaughterhouse, haunted tower or unholy vault. Battle after battle, no end in sight. Hell's power seemed infinite. Perhaps it really was. So he would just keep fighting them until either Hell ran out of demons... or he ran out of strength. It was the kind of gamble where the odds were not in his favor.
Leaving the ruined demonic fortress (and all the dripping sounds) behind, he now walked in silence, going back to the barren plain of portals – gateways leading everywhere and nowhere. Doorways to potential demonic conquest. No one had asked the Marine to watch over them and keep them safe. He had embarked upon this dark quest by his own will. It was already too late for regrets or change of heart.
All of these portals were large and scintillating with various colors. All except one, which was small and fading away – the portal leading back home. That way was lost forever... and yet, in the gateway's final moments, as it was about to be extinguished for good, it could still be used. The marine had learned enough from the demons' foul lore to know he could squeeze a small objects through the dying portal and send it somewhere back on Earth. A last memento for humanity to remember him by. Something important that had to find its way back home.
This gave him an idea. He rummaged through his bloodstained backpack and pulled out an old and tattered map. It backside was still clean. Yes, this was exactly what he needed...
(Another place, another time...)
"You were suspended? AGAIN?!"
The young man with the messy hair didn't have to listen to this – he had already heard it so many times before. He had gotten used to the thought he was a failure and would never amount to anything good. "This is what happens when a boy grows up without a father" – that's what everyone said. Well, his father was gone, no one knew where he was, and he was never coming back. That's the way it was, that's how it was gonna be!
"Go clean up the garage! This should help you cool off!"
He left the house and headed towards the garage. It wasn't like they had a car, it was just storage space for old junk. Perhaps his dad had had a car once, but that didn't matter cause his dad was gone, he had departed without a trace and never looked back. Great role model, for sure. Starting a family was hard enough, even though it had been more than a decade since the demonic invasion that left Earth in ruins, but abandoning your family – how could you ever justify that? And then they wondered why he was angry all the time. He had already made a reputation as a malcontent. When he went to school, they always checked his bag at the door. Treated him like a menace to society. Maybe he really was one, but didn't notice it...
The garage door opened with an ominous creak. A cloud of dust billowed out, making him sneeze. The afternoon sun's rays pierced the gloom like daggers and the piles of old boxes seemed like a surreal sculpture. A pretty filthy one too. Time to dig through all this stuff.
The garage was like a furnace – the merciless August sun had been heating it up for days and now the young man was sweating all over. He had moved so many boxes already and still nowhere close to the worst junk that needed removing. Box after box, no end in sight. The garage's pile of junk seemed infinite. As he moved another one, the pile become unstable and started to collapse. He tried to dodge, but one of the boxes hit him on the shoulder.
He took off his shirt – the shoulder seemed badly bruised. Great, now he couldn't continue. In a fit of helpless anger he kicked the damned boxes as hard as he could. He was just about to turn around and leave the sweltering garage when he noticed something. Behind the collapsed pile was a cleared section with objects strewn around the floor, as if hastily tossed in there and forgotten. What was this stuff?
He knelt down slowly as his eyes widened in bewilderment. Was that... a shotgun? An old-fashioned sawed-off double-barreled shotgun. He clutched it in his hand, as if still unsure whether it was real or not. He touched the mechanism gently and the back side of the barrels opened, revealing there were still two shells shells in it. He put it carefully on the floor and looked at the other objects. That empty blue flask seemed oddly familiar – just like those demonic potions in the museum. Was this his father's stuff? How did he ever get his hands on such a shotgun and demonic artifacts?
There were many strange things lying in this corner – various bits of ammo, a small medkit of some sort, and what looked like an old and tattered space marine uniform. He had to tell his mother about this, and he was about to get up and leave when he noticed something else lying in the shadows. A folded sheet of paper that looked like a torn piece of a map... with his name on it. He unfolded it slowly and started reading.
When you are old enough to read these words, I know they will find their way to you. These words are all I can leave to you, even though we've never met, my only son.
I realize I was not there when you needed me the most. I realize you've probably been angry with me for many years. You should know that I wanted to be there, watch you grow, and support you in times of need. Yet this was never meant to be.
The weapons and artifacts you saw should give you a clue as to who I really am, and the burden I carry. I wanted to believe my fight was over, but I was needed once more... and so I did go. This is why I left without a word – I feared that your identity as my son could draw THEIR attention and put your life at risk while you were still young and frail.
There is no way back for me. I have condemned myself to follow this cursed path, wherever it may lead me. The Earth is left without a defender, unless you choose to follow in my footsteps. I wish you'd rather not, but this choice is entirely up to you. Should you commit yourself to this duty – be strong, steadfast and cunning, but do not ignore the cries for help of those who need it.
My time is running out. Farewell, my son. And if we meet some day, I am sure I will know it's you, for a father's heart is never wrong.
Silence. The young man sat still on the floor for minutes, just staring at the piece of paper. As he read these lines, his vision blurred. In his mind, he saw strange and distant images, images of a lone man, a space marine, who stood against countless legions of wretched fiends and fought them back with inhuman fury. A man that had no way back home. A fearsome defender of humanity... The young man got up from the dusty floor and walked back to the garage exit, still holding the letter in his hand. He looked straight up to the sky and yelled at the top of his lungs:
"FATHER!"
But then he looked down to the ground, clenching his fists, as if to stop a treacherous tear from appearing in his eye. And then he whispered as quietly as possible
"Thank you."
(Another place... years later)
The marines swarmed all over the burning temple, methodically looking for survivors and artifacts. Phobos Troopers were an elite unit, they took the fight to the demons and made them pay for everything they had inflicted upon humanity. The radios came to life with their chatter.
"Skulltag, Menace, get over here – I need some assistance in the crypt. Trapped Mancubus. Can't get a clear shot..."
Two space marines in full battle gear headed towards the blood-splattered stairwell leading down into the darkness. A few explosions shook the ground, and about a minute later, the three troopers emerged from below.
"Wasn't so hard to roast that freak. You could have done it yourself, Caco-Slayer." one of them joked.
"Well, I wouldn't want you to fall asleep from boredom, Menace," the other one replied with a wink.
The men gathered their equipment and prepared to move out. The place was now secured and the demons would not be using it anymore. For a while, at least. Sooner or later they would try to come back and reclaim it. They always did.
"You know, I never asked you," said the marine the others addressed as Skulltag, turning to his friend, "Why do they call you Menace?"
"Oh, it's a fun story," Menace replied, "You see, I was often considered a menace to society back when I was at school. Got suspended so many times. Growing up without a father made people think I lacked something, that I was a troublemaker. Just one more reason for me to sign up for the Space Marines and get away from that town."
"Oh well, as long as you keep being such a menace to the demons, you are alright in my book," Skulltag winked.
Just a couple of minutes later the squad was ready to move on. Phobos Troopers prided themselves on their efficiency, and they still had a few more targets on their hit list for the day. They were already on their way back to the bleak ash-covered plains when one of the marines caught a glimpse of something behind a corner and gave the others a sign to stop.
"Hey guys, come check this out."
Behind one of the demonic buildings was a big pile of old demon bones. Some of the skulls had visible bullet holes in them.
"Looks like they stashed the remains of their buddies in here," Caco-Slayer smirked, "They all perished in some old battle. But with whom, I wonder."
The trooper known as Menace approached the bone pile. Someone did a real fine job exterminating these freaks. Then his eyes stopped on a strange object stuck out from the pile and seemed oddly out of place. It looked just like the back end of a chainsaw. He carefully climbed onto the pile and grasped the object in order to pull it out from the Hell Knight skull it was lodged into. It really was a chainsaw!
"Okay, now that's pretty weird," Skulltag exclaimed, "I wonder how this ended up here."
"I have a few ideas how," Menace whispered. He knew of only one marine that was known for having used a chainsaw in battle. A marine of such legendary reputation that some even doubted his existence. The one who single-handedly stopped an entire invasion.
The squad leader gave the sign – it was time to move out. The trooper known as Menace gently put the old chainsaw on the ground and joined the others.
"I truly am walking in your footsteps now, father," he though. "I am getting closer, perhaps I will even catch up with you some day. And when I do, I will know it's you, for a son's heart is never wrong."
Inspiration: This story, especially the part with the letter, was inspired by the Manowar song "Defender" - pretty easy to find on YouTube, so if you're curious, you can listen to it. It's one of my favorites, and I am glad that I was able to write something inspired by it :)
