//------------------------------// // [EPILOGUE] Lamentations of the Forgotten // Story: Fuel the Eternal Flame | A DOOM MLP Crossover // by NotAnEditor //------------------------------// The Doom Slayer walked down the throne room, his ignited love-enchanted hammer on his back as he gently made his way to the singular chair. Sitting there was Princess Luna on her singular throne. Celestia as well as her seating was absent. Luna looked away from one of her guards. “I see that you have completed your duty here.” the princess stated. “Discord had told me about the events.” He assumed the worst for Celestia in her absence. Luna bowed her head a moment, closing her eyes. “Yes… Celestia was a… personal loss. But, Equestria must stay strong, and so must its leader. I must ask, Great Slayer. What now? The demons are trapped in Hell for eternity, with no access to any world. Even this one” He knew exactly where. The Slayer looked behind him at the head of the hammer, reading the names of his loved ones longingly. He walked past the throne, turning behind it and pressing the correlating button to enter the hidden war room. Luna got out of her chair, following the Slayer curiously as the elevator lowered. She watched as the Slayer walked toward the arches of the Slipgate, passing the table and coming in front of it as the vortex opened. “Where, Slayer?” she didn’t expect an answer. The Slayer suddenly stopped, clutching one of his fists. It was a moment of thought behind his helmet before his hand finally fell limp, no longer tense. “Home.” Luna’s confusion turned to understanding. Satisfaction, maybe. The Slayer was going home after his long conquest, away from the sarcophagus, demons, wars, torment. He had done it. She felt a sense of pride for the demon killer as he left through the portal, it shutting off as the hero left. ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfRLk9IPDUI&ab_channel=xiphares In a park of one of the numerous abandoned and overgrown cities, a huge colony of cherry blossoms drifted peacefully. The ARC reconstruction division titled it the Peace Colony. The thousands of corpses of demons all fueled the natural repair of this heavily assaulted city, the gorgeous pink leaves drifting in the wind after it all. Within this section of peace, a shrine had been built for their hero. Several paintings of the Doom Slayer’s conquest and legend leaned on replicas of his demon-ending weapons. Numerous thankful letters and messages strewn about the peaceful pink-covered grass. There were several photos of happy families, playing in this very park, alive, happy and free from the demons. On the back each had a letter for the Doom Slayer, if he were to read it. A gentle creek weaved behind the shrine, full of the leaves. It gurgled relaxingly behind it, the chirping of doves joining it in the ambience. It wasn’t uncommon to spot the strolling deer pack or maybe a fox or two, sniffing at the shrine before going off casually. Soon, the shrine gained a more authentic set of offerings. A chestplate of the Slayer was gently set down, before the shins, boots and other bits of adamantium armor were placed. Finally, the last to be set down was an authentic helmet of the demon killer. His mark was set proudly on the forehead of it. The large man that stood before the podium in a rather common undersuit found in this futuristic culture began putting away his firearms, unloading each with care before giving a gentle stroke and laying them down. Lucifer’s Bane was unlatched, shells carefully removed before being placed in front of the armor. His Ballista had to have its chain racked a couple of times before the argent energy was diffused and it was safe to settle it. His Heavy Machine Gun simply needed a button pressed to remove the mag before the chamber was racked, ejecting the last cartridge. The Rocket Launcher was trivial to empty, just a yank of the weapon’s ammo chamber was required before he stood it up against a mural of him battling a horde. It was the Plasma Rifle and the Chaingun that was set away next, the Rifle just needing a removal of the plasma battery and the Chaingun just needing a removal of the chains of ammo and a quad-racking of each chamber. The last gun to be set down was the Hellvolver he had collected in the Corpse Forest, settling it down. Finally, he lifted the Sentinel Hammer from the ground, gazing at the many English words of his family and his feelings toward them. Love, care, heartfelt, sweet. With a gentle shutting of his eyes, he set the weapon down, deactivating it before leaning it against his helmet. He stepped away, the heavily scarred man gazing at all the equipment he had put to their resting place in this serene landscape. His eyes shut, nostrils breathing in the clear air nicely. There was no oxygen filter, no air conditioning, no air affecting additives. At that moment, all felt still. No demonic screeching, no hellish chants, no overly nice UAC PSAs. It felt like for once in his life the demon killer was not wielding a weapon. There was no bloodthirst for the monsters, no need for vengeance. He was at peace, the thoughts of his family drifting away with the cherry blossoms. Their love was constantly reminded to him by the live and well planet, which had been saved because of the wrath he bestowed upon the demons. In some way, the memory of their care fueled the saving of humanity. “Who do you think he was?” a familiar voice spoke behind him. He turned, seeing the Intern. The shorter guy walked up to stand behind him. The Slayer hadn’t seen him in 7 years, the once young scientist now much more mature. He had lost the glasses and had a bit of facial hair. “I used to work with him. It's what got me a job as administrator.” he said, nodding towards a large walled-in sector of the city, plastered in ARC logos. Numerous lights of civilization flickered within it. “Even when the ARC was too scared to help him, I’d still believe his plans.” He snickered a little. “I haven’t exactly seen him in a while. Probably out killing demons somewhere.” “...Probably.” He responded after his long moment of silence. The Intern pocketed his hands, looking around the woods with a moment of silence. “Well, that was a nice little walk. Want to head back to the reconstruction outpost, Flynn? Get some drinks maybe.” Flynn nodded, looking at his pal. “I could go for a drink.”  The two turned, walking towards the distant metal walls. Flynn didn’t turn to look back at the shrine. The only thing to greet the pile of thankful gifts was a blowing wind of pink blossoms, satisfied with the sacrifices of the one it was dedicated to.