The night air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The Slayer's heavy boots pressed into the soft earth as he moved forward, the bloodstained thorned armor clinking with each step. The Shield Saw hummed faintly at his side, hungry for carnage, but for now, there was only stillness.
Suddenly—a sharp, piercing scream shattered the quiet, slicing through the night like a blade.
The Slayer's head tilted ever so slightly toward the sound. No hesitation, no question. His colossal form surged through the underbrush, muscles tensed, senses sharpened. He knew that scream was a cry for survival — a sound he had come to answer in countless hellish worlds.
Ahead, through the trees, flickering amber light spilled from a small, worn cottage. Smoke curled lazily from its stone chimney, but the sounds within were far from peaceful.
Before the door, a man stood, trembling but resolute, gripping a crude spear like a lifeline. Beside him, his daughter, eyes wide with terror, pressed close behind a broken crate, her small hands clenched so tight her knuckles were white.
A demon stalked them—silent, predatory. Its form was grotesquely human, pale skin stretched tight over sharp bones, a twisted grin revealing needle-thin fangs. Its eyes shimmered with unnatural hunger as it advanced.
The father raised his spear with shaking hands, trying to keep the beast at bay. The girl's whimper grew louder, her body quivering.
Suddenly, the demon's gaze snapped to the newcomer.
The Slayer.
An aura of pure, unyielding dread rolled out like a storm across the clearing. The temperature dropped, and even the wind held its breath.
The demon staggered, eyes wide with raw terror, its confidence shattered by the chilling presence.
The father and daughter froze, fear rooting them in place as the monstrous figure approached, his towering form blotting out the moonlight.
The demon, desperate, lashed out with a clawed hand, sharp talons raking through the air — only to have its wrist shattered by the Slayer's Power Gauntlet with a sickening crunch.
The creature howled in pain, clutching its broken hand, but the Slayer's cold, merciless grip closed around its throat like an iron trap.
Bones crushed beneath his grasp; the demon's screams turned to gargled pleas.
The Slayer twisted, hearing the sick pop of a snapped neck.
Still unsatisfied, he tore the demon's arm free at the elbow, sending it crashing to the ground in a spray of dark blood.
The father's spear fell from numb fingers as his eyes locked on the brutal massacre unfolding before him.
One by one, the Slayer ripped the demon's flesh from bone, each movement a calculated act of obliteration. Ribs shattered, spinal cord severed, muscles shredded and torn. Gore splattered the clearing, painting the earth with vivid horror.
The young girl screamed, burying her face in her father's leg, trembling uncontrollably.
The father, eyes wide and haunted, stammered, "W-who... what are you? Are you… one of them?"
The Slayer said nothing. His visor reflected the carnage, his presence an unspoken judgment.
His Shield Saw whirred to life, blades spinning with a savage growl, casting eerie, flickering light across the shattered remains.
The message was clear: more monsters lurked in the dark, and he was their reckoning.
The father, swallowing fear and disbelief, whispered, "Please… protect us."