NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: Demons in Disarray
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Red Grave City was no longer the domain of arrogance and fear that the demonic hordes once commanded. In its ruined streets and shadowed alleys, an unprecedented terror had taken hold—a terror born not from the whispers of ancient prophecies or the arrogance of demonic might, but from the silent, unstoppable force of a single warrior.
The Doom Slayer's merciless onslaught through the city had shattered the long-held confidence of the underworld's denizens. His arrival, marked by brutal efficiency and raw, unbridled violence, had left a trail of devastation that no demon had ever witnessed before. As the sounds of splintering concrete and the staccato blasts of his Super Shotgun faded into a grim silence, something unexpected began to happen among the demonic ranks.
High above the chaos, on a battered rooftop that overlooked the burning cityscape, three figures observed the unfolding carnage with mixed fascination and apprehension. Dante's eyes sparkled with mischief and delight, Nero's jaw was set in a mix of disbelief and concern, while Vergil's expression remained as inscrutable as ever.
"It's like watching a nightmare come alive," Nero muttered as they surveyed the devastation below. "I mean, demons are supposed to be ruthless—fearless even—but look at them now. They're… panicking."
Dante chuckled, his tone laced with amusement. "Yeah, man. This guy fights like he's the embodiment of hell itself. And his temper? Damn near explosive. I can't help but dig it."
Vergil's eyes narrowed as he watched the silent warrior's path of destruction. "He does not fight for pleasure, nor for survival… only for destruction," he observed quietly. "This is no ordinary demon. There is something otherworldly about his ferocity—an anomaly that might upset the balance."
Down on the ruined streets, the Doom Slayer pressed forward like an avenging tempest. The air was heavy with the stench of burning flesh and the bitter tang of demonic blood. Every step he took left a deep impression in the scorched pavement, every motion measured yet lethally precise. His Praetor Suit, still aglow with the residual energy of his recent battles, shone like a beacon of retribution in a city consumed by darkness.
As he advanced, a towering figure emerged from the swirling mists of chaos. It was Gorath the Executioner—a grotesque archdemon, a monstrous fusion of the demonic powers from Sparda's legacy and the hellish might of Doom's realm. Standing taller than any of its lesser brethren, Gorath was clad in nightmarish armor etched with infernal runes, and wielded a massive, blood-soaked blade that pulsed with unholy energy. His eyes, burning with a mixture of fury and trepidation, fixed upon the approaching Slayer.
A trembling voice, uncharacteristic of the proud and fearless demons, broke the oppressive silence. "Y-You… You are not of this world, Slayer…" Gorath stammered, his voice shaking with a blend of rage and fear.
The Doom Slayer slowly turned his head, his visor reflecting the flickering lights of hellfire. Without a word, he cocked his Super Shotgun with a resounding metallic click—a sound that seemed to echo like a death knell among the demonic ranks.
Gorath's voice grew more urgent, more desperate. "You do not belong here! Return to your cursed realm!" The archdemon's words were laced with a rare hint of panic, for even he could not fathom the unstoppable force before him.
Without a moment's hesitation, the Slayer produced his Ballista—a weapon of brutal simplicity and devastating power—and fired a charged shot straight through Gorath's left shoulder. The impact was instantaneous. Gorath's eyes widened in shock as a searing lance of energy pierced his flesh, and he let out a tortured, inhuman screech. His massive form staggered backward under the sheer force of the blow, his grip on his hellish blade faltering for the first time.
From their perch above, Dante couldn't help but let out an amused remark. "Oof. That's gotta sting," he quipped, his tone a blend of amusement and admiration.
Nero's eyes widened as he processed the scene. "That thing is supposed to be an elite demon, right? I've never seen one hesitate before," he observed, his voice edged with incredulity.
Vergil's gaze was unyielding as he regarded the unfolding scene. "It is not hesitation. It is fear," he stated coolly, his tone revealing the weight of his observation. "A creature that instills terror in its own kind… such is the effect of this 'Slayer'."
Below, a ripple of panic spread among the remaining demons. In alleys, behind shattered storefronts, and within the broken walls of desecrated temples, the creatures began to murmur among themselves. One demon, its voice quivering as if in a fit of madness, hissed, "This is wrong! We're not supposed to feel fear! We are HELL!" Another, trembling uncontrollably, added, "H-He's not mortal… he's something worse…" And then, almost in unison, a third cried out, "RUN!"
In a moment that defied every known behavior of the underworld's denizens, a wave of lesser demons began to retreat. Their fierce arrogance was replaced by desperate flight as the once-proud warriors of darkness scattered in terror. But the Doom Slayer was relentless. He did not pause to gloat or to observe; he charged forward with singular focus.
In one swift motion, the Slayer dived toward the staggering Gorath. Gripping his Doomblade with both hands, he lashed out and latched onto the archdemon's chest. The impact was brutal—a clash of titanic forces as the Slayer's raw power met the demon's desperate resistance.
Gorath screamed—a sound of pure agony and fury—as the Doom Slayer delivered a devastating Hellbreaker punch. The force of the blow smashed Gorath's face into the pavement, shattering bone and splintering his infernal helmet. Blood and ichor splattered across the cracked asphalt in a macabre display of retribution.
As Gorath crumpled beneath the onslaught, the remaining demons, now in a state of complete disarray, attempted a last, feeble countercharge. Their numbers, once the pride of the demonic legions, now faltered in the face of the Slayer's unyielding aggression. In a moment of pure, unadulterated combat fury, the Doom Slayer activated his Rip & Tear Mode. His movements became a blur of lethal precision—faster than the eye could follow. Every demon that dared approach was met with swift, merciless retribution. The streets of Red Grave transformed into a veritable slaughterhouse as the unstoppable force cut through wave after wave of desperate, panicked attackers.
From their distant vantage point, the trio of demon hunters exchanged bewildered glances. Nero's voice was barely a whisper as he voiced what they all felt, "…We're supposed to be the scariest guys in town. What the hell are we watching?" His words carried a mix of awe and a bitter realization of their own limitations.
Dante, ever the irreverent one, burst into laughter. "I dunno, kid. But I think we just found someone worse than Vergil," he said with a roguish grin, clearly entertained by the spectacle of absolute domination.
Vergil's expression, however, remained as enigmatic as ever. He narrowed his eyes, his voice low and contemplative. "Hmph. This 'Slayer'… he may become a problem." His tone held a note of forewarning, as if he recognized the potential implications of a force so raw and uncontrollable.
As the chaos reached its crescendo, Gorath—now barely clinging to life—crawled backward. The once-mighty archdemon, his form shattered and his strength nearly spent, looked upward at the Doom Slayer with an expression of utter defeat. For the first time in his long existence, a high-ranking demon found himself pleading in a voice choked with despair. "P-Please… no more…" he rasped, his words trembling on the edge of oblivion.
Without missing a beat, the Doom Slayer raised his Super Shotgun. In the grim silence that followed Gorath's pitiful plea, he pulled the trigger. The sound was final—a point-blank execution that ended the archdemon's miserable existence in an instant.
In that moment, a palpable shift rippled through the demonic forces. Word began to spread like wildfire through the dark recesses of the underworld. An unknown force—something far beyond the ancient, blood-soaked legacy of Sparda's line—had arrived on their home turf. The mere presence of the Slayer had upended the natural order. Demons who had once marched forward with unshakable confidence now found themselves driven into hiding. Their belligerent arrogance was replaced by a cold, creeping terror that made even the most formidable of them think twice before emerging into the open.
For Dante and Nero, the ensuing calm was almost comical. "Looks like our jobs just got a whole lot easier," Dante quipped with a chuckle as he surveyed the now-empty streets of Red Grave from his rooftop perch. Nero, still gripping his weapon tightly, simply shook his head in disbelief. "Man, I've seen some crazy things in my time, but this… this is on another level," he muttered, his tone a mixture of awe and relief.
Vergil, however, was not so easily entertained. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where rumors of the Slayer's deeds were already stirring in the demon world. "An unknown force that instills fear in even the most vicious of beings… This anomaly must be watched closely," he mused, his voice as cool and calculating as ever. The implications of such power—and its potential interference with his own ambitions—were not lost on him.
Thus, as the blood-soaked echoes of battle faded into an uneasy silence, the city of Red Grave found itself in an unprecedented state of disarray. Demons, once the epitome of terror and ruthlessness, now cowered in the shadows, their pride shattered by an enemy they could neither comprehend nor overcome. The legend of the Doom Slayer was quickly spreading—an omen of doom that even the dark lords of the underworld could not ignore.
In the coming days, whispers would surge through the corridors of hell and the hidden corners of the demon world. Tales of an unstoppable force—one that defied the very nature of demonic power—would be spoken in hushed tones. Red Grave City, scarred by the Slayer's rampage, had become a symbol of terror not just for its inhabitants, but for every creature that thrived in the darkness.
And somewhere in the distance, the shadows stirred with new purpose. The arrival of the Doom Slayer was only the beginning. His impact on this realm was undeniable—a harbinger of change that would echo through the underworld for centuries to come.
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If you like the story ! please support it
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You get access to +5 chapters ! form vergil !!
Or even 12+ chapters if you want ! from Dante!!
So please check out my patréon
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Don't forget to change "é" to "e"