In the distant and grim 41st Millennium, Cadia—the fortress world of the Imperium that had resisted the incursions of Chaos from the Eye of Terror for ten thousand years—was now facing its greatest crisis.
The Black Crusade fleet of Abaddon the Despoiler had already arrived in the Cadian system. The armies of Chaos were at Cadia's doorstep.
The boundless fleets of Chaos, carrying terrifying numbers, had sworn to destroy this obstructing human world before them. Chaos would trample this planet underfoot.
The battle had already begun.
To destroy Cadia's planetary void shields, the Black Crusade fleet had deployed vast ground forces, dropping them onto the battlefield. From the skies, drop pods fell like rain, trailing fire and shrieks as they tore through the atmosphere and crashed into the surface.
Countless daemons with twisted faces poured forth from the rifts of the Warp, hungering to harvest human souls.
Yet, at this moment, a traveler appeared.
The man stood close to two meters tall, clad in a strange suit of dark green power armor, the plates scarred and battered, evidence that its wearer had fought countless battles.
Through the gaps in the armor one could still glimpse the bulging muscles and powerful physique beneath. The power helmet concealed his face, showing only the faint outline of a hard-featured man.
No one knew how he had arrived on this battlefield.
No one knew when he had appeared on this battlefield.
He was a transmigrator—but not an ordinary one.
[DOOM Slayer] —that was the name others gave him.
DOOM remained silent, gazing at the distant battlefield. The defenders of the Imperium were locked in fierce firefights with the forces of Chaos. Gunfire and tracer rounds crisscrossed the field, while violent explosions lit it in bursts of fire.
DOOM made no move and spoke no word. He seemed still to be pondering: Why am I here?
He only remembered killing daemons. Killing daemons, and killing so many daemons he had lost count—as if he had crossed time and space itself, from the Dark Ages to the Eternal Age. He could no longer recall how many he had slain.
Why did he kill daemons?
In DOOM's mind appeared the image of a small, beloved pet rabbit—so cute that even a man like DOOM had loved it dearly.
But the daemons had come to Earth. They had slaughtered countless lives—and they had killed it, too.
DOOM's pet rabbit, Daisy.
In that instant, an endless fury ignited once more in DOOM's heart. No further explanation was needed. No complicated reason was required. Daemons had no right to exist. DOOM would kill every last one of them.
All of them.
On the battlefield ahead, a red, daemon-like creature noticed DOOM, standing apart from the main fight. It was a Khorne Bloodletter—the most basic of Khorne's daemonic soldiers.
Though merely a "basic" unit, it still stood over two meters tall, clutching a massive Hellblade dripping with fresh blood.
With a vicious glare, the Bloodletter roared and charged at DOOM, swinging its great blade.
It failed to notice the surge of fierce music rising around DOOM, nor the ever-colder glint in his eyes beneath the visor.
Shing—!
The wrist-blade on DOOM's left arm snapped out. He said nothing, only stepped forward.
The music's tempo quickened, faster and faster, reaching its peak just as the Bloodletter rushed into striking distance.
The daemon's Hellblade slashed down, but DOOM did not dodge. His left wrist-blade caught the blow, and before the stunned Bloodletter could react, DOOM's right hand clenched into a fist. A brutal right hook smashed into its face.
The Bloodletter's features twisted, deformed—and exploded, separating from its body. It happened too fast. By the time the punch ended, its head had been blasted hundreds of meters away. The headless corpse toppled slowly to the ground.
DOOM had claimed his first kill in this world.
But he did not care.
He picked up the Hellblade, tested its balance, and, finding it satisfactory, continued forward with the blade in hand.
Daemons lay ahead. Endless daemons awaited his slaughter.
Other Bloodletters had noticed DOOM. The human who had slain their kin now advanced toward them. They were enraged.
"SCREEEEEEE—!"
Three Bloodletters charged at him at once, each brandishing a Hellblade, intent on hacking the human in two and offering his skull to the Blood God.
The first leapt high, blade glowing crimson. In that instant he felt as though Khorne himself had granted him the strength to cut through anything.
But DOOM reversed his grip on the Hellblade and hurled it like a spear. The blade struck true, driving straight into the daemon's head and killing it instantly.
The second tried a cunning flank, swinging its Hellblade in a wide arc.
DOOM showed no fear. He drew the double-barreled shotgun slung across his back. That ancient weapon of the Great Terra era should not have been effective against a Bloodletter. But when DOOM pulled the trigger, the daemon's head burst into a blooming spray of blood.
The third did not falter despite its comrades' deaths. To it, they had merely been weak. It would surpass them. Charging straight at DOOM without hesitation, it raised its Hellblade high.
But DOOM did not fire again. Instead, his right hand seized the daemon's head. Though it stood nearly as tall as him, in DOOM's grip it was like a chick snatched by the neck. No matter how it struggled, it could not break free.
That was no strength a human should possess.
He was a monster—a monster wearing the form of a man.
CRACK—!
DOOM crushed the Bloodletter's head in his hand. The headless corpse fell to the ground. Calmly, DOOM retrieved the Hellblade still embedded in the earth and walked on.
Through it all, he never hesitated. Through it all, he never spoke a word. Through it all, he never entertained a second thought.
Everything he did had only one purpose:
[To Kill Daemons]
The aura of a warrior radiated from him, overwhelming and forbidding. Though not impossibly tall, he exuded a suffocating presence that warned all away.
Clutching the Hellblade, DOOM strode onward. Around him, the ancient battle hymn still resounded. His presence had already drawn the attention of more Bloodletters. Hundreds of them gathered, shrieking and howling, charging straight at him, eager to claim his skull for the Blood God.
But in time they would learn: this was the most foolish act they had ever committed.
For that man was the one who had already pierced through Hell itself.
So long as even a single daemon remained in existence, DOOM's hunt would never end.