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Once upon a time In a world before Earth came to be there was the Maykrs. . .

The first deity of the Maykrs, the Father, Built the Gate of Divum many eons ago. It’s purpose? To access the hidden city of Immora deep in the heart of a realm known by many names: the pit, the dark abyss, the Netherworld, and many other countless titles. . . but there was one name that all sentient creatures know it by, a name that have been given by the Dark Lord himself:

Hell.

Twenty-five years ago in Earth’s time, Hell found its way to open a portal towards Earth. From the mouth of the black void legions, and legions of Hell’s most vilest creations, and dwellers of the dark realm marched out. They were rage, brutal from the strike of their very claws, and feared so much even a child had nightmares of their bright venomous yellow eyes:

The Demons.

They shed blood and mercilessly brutalized any living thing on their sights. The horde of the demons overwhelmed the very best and most advanced machinery and weapons technology that mankind could muster against the opposition. No matter what they threw or plotted against them It was utterly useless, they moved and were too quicker then them, caring for themselves they did not, for only they sought out the blood of humanity. They were willing to sacrifice their own to get to the heart of their world. They slaughtered thousands and millions more followed.

Until… He came.

In the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, and all thought hope was lost, one man stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous hatred he found no peace; and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him. He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and his reckoning was uncounted.

The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons. At the time they didn’t know who he was nor were they prepared for his arrival, striding forth to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and though he was mortal, his strength grew, swift and unrelenting. For as he gains in strength so do they fall in numbers. His steel barreled sword of vengeance cut through layer after layer of the legions like a sickle through a field - his fury surpassing their own. Though Hell’s forces were fast, He was faster - more relentless.

None could stand before the horde but him. Like a plague, despair spread before him, striking fear into the shadow-dwellers, driving them to deeper and darker pits. But no matter where they hid he would always find a way to break through the rabbit hole. When the Striding Outlander marched forth in the dark realm a new challenger from the depths of the abyss rose, The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of ferocity and immeasurable power. He strode upon the plain and faced the unyielding warrior, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains. The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at his hand, but when the demons thought for a moment victory was theirs - there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were left in utter disbelief.

On that day came the birth of a title: all those that tasted the bite of his sword, ripped and teared apart at his hands, those who realized he was far worse than them, those that stood and watched as he stood victorious over the Titan’s corpse roaring an in-human battle cry named him...

The Doom Slayer.

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