Title: “That’s one Doomed Space Marine” Part 4

Category: Videogames
Author Pen name: Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: This is a parody of ID Games’ Doom. Contains scenes of combat violence that some readers may find disturbing. There is also a character inspired by the Princess from Hellraiser 4 and a bit inspired by Watership Down… If you’ve read the previous parts, this is mostly more of the same. Still not the final part, though I have a better idea of how I’m actually reaching the planned end now, so it’s really just a case of sitting down and writing it all out.

Central Processing (E1M6)

The air purifiers had failed under the weight of hell’s corruption.

The cloying smell of the corrupted dead competed with the fumes of the waste processing pits to create a stench worse than it’s component parts. The Duke of Hell breathed in a great lungful of the corrupt miasma and found it pleasing. He considered it a shame that there hadn’t been more time for him to explore this base, forced instead to manage the operation from the Anomaly. No longer subjected to the pressures of command he felt freed; freed to pursue the Earth witch and add her power to his own and especially take vengeance on her against all the witches who’d humiliated him centuries previously.

A former human shambled in nearby shadows. Always quick to anger, he was driven to rage that this pathetic creature, lowest of the low, had not returned to the Anomaly as ordered. Had this rotted thing sort to defy his will? The truth was simply that the demonic motor control of the former human was too low, too poor, to properly direct it back to the Anomaly.

The Duke raised his right hand up to his shoulder and easily channelled his energy into a burst of green fire. The light danced off the walls and showed him suddenly that the former human had been a woman, a scientists white coat ragged about her corrupt flesh. He directed his blast harmlessly aside, stalked forward, and picked up the former human by the neck with one mighty hand. The demon struggled uselessly against the powerful Duke, growling angrily.

“Why? Why was I not told that there were human females on this base? Why did you take her for yourself? They scream so much sweeter then the males! ANSWER ME!”

The former human could only gurgle, no more able to control the corpses vocal cords than it could successfully walk it back to the anomaly. It could no longer even feel pain through the dead nerves of the unnaturally fast-rotted body; but it could feel the fear of oblivion, the fear of the darkness that lay beyond the world of heaven and hell. It struggled futilely as the Duke’s anger grew.

Further defiance!

He raised his free right hand to pull the pathetic creature’s head off, when it suddenly seemed to him that perhaps he could use an ally. He’d under-estimated the last witches he’d faced and paid a dear price. The herd scum on Phobos were clearly useless to his needs now; they’re stand against the Space Marine had been beyond pathetic.

The powerful Imp, the one who’d taken down the man, he knew she had been slowed by her mission and not yet returned on the recall. The Duke expected her to follow his commands when he encountered her. The he began to think about how Imps were primarily loyal to Imps and that the other Imps now supported the Barons of Hell at the anomaly over himself. He didn’t want to rely on uncertain support, to have to face an enraged and powerful female Imp, if she found he’d dragged her into his personal vendetta.

Turning his attention back to the former human before him he followed his train of thought to realise she could be a vessel for more than the weak possessing demon. Was it fate that had provided such unexpected luck for the Duke? He didn’t believe in ‘fate.’ The duke was naturally paranoid and began to wonder if perhaps he was being manipulated, coerced down a path by unseen forces, providing him with what he needed to further their ends. He spun around in a flurry of indecision, the animated corpse shaken like a doll before he decided to go along with things, to seek proof for his paranoia and find a way to turn the tables on any manipulators.

Forcing the former human down onto her knees, the Duke pulled the possessed corpse’s head between his furry thighs, and fed his meat into her mouth, hardening as he thrust. Like the Imp, the dead thing had no need to breath, and this former human had particularly little control over the body muscles. The Duke’s cock expanded, long and thick. Stretching the throat around it and finally squeezing his meat. He began to chant, casting a spell of his own.

He sped up his thrusts slamming the still struggling former human back and forth on his cock, his voice rising into a screaming, snarling rage. Finally his balls rested on her chin and he unleashed his spunk down her throat, a torrent wave that glowed with an unnatural light, filled with the potent magic of his spell.

After pulling out, he dropped the former human to the floor, where she writhed, growling and then clutching at her stomach. Something was moving in there, as the light glowed through the decaying flesh. Now spreading along her limbs it shone so bright that even the Duke shielded his eyes.

Then it was Dark. He blinked a few times until sight returned. Standing before him, ragged lab coat about a filthy uniform was a woman, the visible corruptness of the possession removed from her flesh, restored to her “healthy, human” state. Her eyes were totally black until she blinked and they too returned to normal. She looked perhaps 28 or 30, and pulled her blonde hair from the tight bun behind her head, shaking it loose.

“I am summoned” she said, and her voice had lost the growl and the gurgle, replaced with honeyed malice; warm yet deadly.

“I am summoner, who you shall obey. I name you Woe.”

“As long as you scheme for the masters of hell and not against them, as long as your aims do not interfere with the greater aims of Hell… I am yours to command.” She reached into a pocket on the lab coat, and pulled on a pair of spectacles; checking her reflection in his eyeballs she felt satisfied, though she had the urges of earlier incarnations, for better clothes, and jewellery.

The Duke was uneasy. The creature before him could destroy him easily, though she looked now like nothing beyond a human woman. There were rules, rules he had broken in following his own mission against the witch. The Duke was old, and cunning, and had confidence in his ability to manipulate and dominate, and come out on top. Still, the easy chance for his doom made him nervous.

“My very existence is for the Spider Master. I am betrayed and deserted by fools and cowards. Attack has come unexpected from a human witch; she seeks to destroy all that we’ve worked for, to crash our schemes about us. We must stop her. We must destroy her.” ‘And then I’ll take her power for myself’

“It will be done.”

“Then follow, and we’ll go and take her.”

He turned away and led the way through Central Processing, Woe following behind him, settling into her new form and eating the silently screaming former possessor within, a thin smile on her face.

The Phobos Lab (E1M5)

Fed, rested, and re-equipped. The Imp flexed her muscles and posted on a large square crate before the Space Marine. She stood on the very edge of the tall crate, then bent over backwards to rest her clawed hands on the back edge of the crate, revelling in simply possessing a lithe strong body. Straightening she looked to see the Space Marine still standing impassively, unmoving.

He was now dressed in full strength armour, fully healed and armed. She had found armour untouched and undamaged and dressed him in it, armed him with the best and finest weapons she could find. He was a fine trophy. In the back of her mind she could sense the Anomaly beginning to close. She knew they had five hours before it would be closed and they would be trapped. It was finally time to stop playing and follow the recall, prouder than ever with her trophy.

“You will not attack the others unless they make a specific attempt to harm myself or take you from me. The Spider Mastermind needs them for the plan. There is one exception: The pink demons. There will be a war between them and the Imps, for their violation. We kill them all. Show no hesitation, no mercy.”

She stepped off the crate, and stood before the Space Marine, held up her wrist and flicked his soul out into her hand. The blue sphere cast an eerie glow that clashed weirdly with the green slime in the lake of waste.

She let just a little feed back into him, enjoying seeing him yearn for more, for something only she could give him.

“Do you understand? Answer me now.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Then let’s go make Hell on Earth!”

She pulled the soulsphere back and momentarily stared into the swirling blue within, until the sound of a door rising behind them surprised her. There had been no demons left in The Phobos Lab after the fight, save the Imp herself, and no more had come through from the other areas.

The soul-sphere tugged unexpected from her grasp, and she flailed desperately to keep it, her own power sending it out across the green slime to land on the small platform beneath and between the control room window and the viewing window. The Soulless space marine started towards it, stepping into the radioactive waste, which immediately began to eat at his charged armour. It was tough going in this slime, as soulless he didn’t have the sense to activate the armour field that would allow him to move through it as easy as over the sold ground. He would take some time to reach his soul, but he would reach it. Driven by the need to be whole again, it would take more than slime to stop him.

The Imp grabbed at him, knocking the now little used pistol from its holster, only to be tripped to her knees by an unseen force.

“WHO DARES?” she screamed, climbing to her feet.

“I, Lady Cottontail, last of the rabbit-spirits, eldest and greatest of my kind. I dare pitspawn. You have stolen from me and I will not tolerate that.”

The door dropped closed behind her and the beautiful lady actually took her eyes from the Imp as if she were nothing and watched the Space Marine’s progress as he struggled through knee deep green slime. She looked back at the Imp, whose red eyes burned bright with rage. Impa frowned, the newcomer was no demon, but claimed to be a rabbit-spirit. The Imp had heard old tales of their kind and had thought them nothing but myth.

“I am Impa, a princess of my people! I will send your race to extinction rabbit-spirit, I will eat your heart and soul and drink blood from your skull, for the glory of the Imps and for my own pleasure.”

The rabbit-spirit didn’t look remotely impressed. An expression of boredom sat on her face as she examined her nails. The effect was slightly spoiled as a small lump of spectre spunk dripped free and landed with a splat on the floor between her legs. Impa ran at her, clawed arms out, only to be picked up again by the unseen force and slammed bodily against the wall.

Lady Cottontail was mildly disappointed to see her land unfazed – the amount of magic she had to call on was limited and was no longer invulnerable; her eyes brown, not golden. She realised that she was facing a demon stronger and more powerful than any she’d been expecting here. The rabbit-spirit wasn’t aware that the population ratio of Imp females to males was 1:100 and that the females had developed their strength, speed and intelligence to maintain control.

Impa snarled, and leaped high up the wall, crawling round onto the ceiling, twisting in the hope that the rabbit-spirit wouldn’t be able to get at her. Lady Cottontail continued to stare at her nails, apparently unconcerned, as once again Impa felt herself caught and slammed to the ground, this time landing face down just in front of the rabbit-spirit.

That had hurt. Impa shook her head, red eyes watering from the impact to her nose.

“Foolish pitspawn… what chance do you think you have against me? I was once a Queen… so I outrank you, little princess. Kneel before me. Pay homage and swear fealty. Perhaps I’ll let you live.”

Impa’s reach was better than the rabbit-spirit realised, and a clawed brown hand yanked her ankle and sent Lady Cottontail down onto her ass, legs splayed in her long rabbit-skin skirt. Impa didn’t let go, but pulled the rabbit-spirit forward hard, and punched her in the crotch. The rabbit-skin skirt was tough, and stretched, and took most of the blow. Even so, it was the first time anybody had struck Lady Cottontail in centuries, and she was suddenly shocked, in awe of the strength and speed of the blow.

Never the less she slapped Impa hard about the face, though it had little effect as her physical strength was little above an ordinary human woman’s. Impa grinned, showing her pointed teeth and reached out Lady Cottontail’s throat, only to have the rabbit-spirit flail out with the magic and toss her far down the path that ran beside the waste pool. Impa landed hard on her shoulders and the back of her neck and lay stunned, blinking red eyes at the ceiling.

The Space Marine was a quarter of the way to his soul sparkling blue on the platform, and his body was beginning to ache. It was going to be a close thing for the armour to hold out as well; if only he’d thought to activate the suit field and glide across.

Lady Cottontail stood again, now considerably more wary, and concentrated on her magical power. The creature before her was obviously far too intelligent to seduce and destroy as she had the Spectre, though the rabbit-spirit believed she had the edge in intelligence. Her eyes flicked around for a weapon. She abhorred relying on weapons and had no desire to use them, but equally she’d not prepared for a demon like this one, she’d been too hurried and too rushed following the Space Marine’s trail.

Her eyes fell on the Space Marine’s pistol, and she lent down and picked it up. Standard, simple, military issue; she’d seen them any number of times on the troop ship, and back down at the UAC base on Mars. Weaker than a gnats fart.

Impa stood again, a good thirty feet away, and laughed to see the pistol. She doubted it would do much against her tough skin and raised a clawed fist to throw fire at the rabbit spirt. Lady Cottontail’s shots thudded around her and she laughed anew.

“I’ll make you eat that g-“ The explosion cut her off, as the barrels behind her blew out with great force in an explosion that shook the room, flame licking the ceiling. As ever the semi-treated waste in the pool appeared unaffected.

Lady Cottontail raised the pistol and blew smoke from the end, always willing to cut a classic pose. She could see nothing moving where Impa had been standing.

Thick smoke had momentarily filled the room, though the efficient air purifiers in this part of the complex would soon clear it. Lady Cottontail turned towards the pool, watching the Space Marine. She wanted to advice him about the field so that he could glide through the slime with ease.

“Push the switch on your…” she called to the space Marine. Then she was driven to the ground as Impa dropped from the smoky ceiling with a wild hiss, forcing Lady Cottontail’s face over the edge just above bubbling radioactive waste.

“I… think not… I think… not.” Impa flexed her claws above the Rabbit-spirit. She was singed, and smoke blackened, and shrapnel had torn several small cuts through even her tough skin. Tangling her clawed hand in the rabbit-spirit’s white flecked long hair, she shoved the back of Lady Cottontail’s skull down, and suddenly she had to use her magic to keep the waste from around her face.

Impa hissed above her ear, “Perhaps… if you swear fealty to me, I’ll let you live.”

Lady cottontail thought about risking a change, but realised it was foolish – while going from rabbit to human left her invulnerable for a short time, going the other way left her particularly vulnerable for a time. It was impossible to change to rabbit and then back in a short time.

“NEVER, PITSPAWN!”

“Then die.” Impa raised her free right hand, to send a close range ball of flame at the back of the rabbit-spirit’s head. To her shock, Lady Cottontail realised that she could use the building energy and steal it, and the barest second before Impa was ready to fling the ball of fire, she took control and forced it to feedback into the Imp.

It was the greatest pain Impa had ever felt, as the super-heated fireball tried to flow back, and she sat on Lady Cottontail’s back flailing her arm around, releasing the rabbit-spirit to pull her head from the waste and direct the full force of her power in a blow to the demon’s face, lifting her into the air and slamming her into the ceiling before dropping her to the floor.

Not pausing, the Rabbit-spirit was quickly to her feet and standing before the downed Imp. The light was faded down in Impa’s eyes as she felt the chill of defeat, and realised she was spent. Her whole body ached from the feedback, her muscles running with the poisons of over-exertion. Lady Cottontail recalled her earlier awe at the demon’s ability, and decided that she would make a valuable servant.

“Will you swear fealty to me, and take my mark?”

Impa looked up into eyes now as cold and hard as any demon lord’s and said “…I Will.” She feared the darkness of oblivion as any demon, and like most demons was long experienced at submitting to the service of the more powerful.

Lady Cottontail held out two fingers and touched Impa’s mottled brown forehead. A flash of light left an intricate design there, which faded into the flesh until it couldn’t be seen, unless Lady Cottontail wished it, or a viewer had the know of it.

“You will address me as ‘My Lady.’ You will serve only me.”

“Yes My Lady.”

Impa was crushed, bound to the service of a non-demon with nothing gained in return. She had taken the rabbit-spirit’s mark and could no longer work against her without forfeiting much. There were worse things than the darkness. For the first time, she wished her previous demon lord had marked her and prevented this rabbit-spirit, but such an act would have caused the rebellion of the Impkind, tremendously protective of their females. Now this rabbit-spirit would have to face the anger of all the Imps… but that was no different to how they would have treated her anyway.

“Now…” Lady Cottontail walked around the Kneeling Imp, looking at her already scabbing over cuts, her smoke blackened skin. She admired her firm body, and the strength and speed it gave her new servant. She had quite forgotten to advise the Space Marine – now half way to his soul – to active the suit’s field.

Stopping again in front of Impa, Lady Cottontail dropped her skirt, to reveal thighs sticky with sweat, and dried juice and spectre spunk.

“Cleanse me with your tongue,” she commanded.

Impa lent down and began to lick at the stains that stretched down to Lady Cottontail’s ankles, while the rabbit-spirit watched. Impa’s tongue was quick and agile, and longer than her mistress had been expecting. Powerful swipes took the tongue up her thighs, drinking down the dried waste of the spectre seduction. Impa swiped her tongue across the rabbit-spirit’s pussy, and she gasped. Impa’s demonic tastes led her to enjoy the sweaty spunk/juice mixture and she dove her tongue inside, extending it fully six inches into Lady Cottontail’s pussy.

The rabbit-spirit yelped and grabbed Impa by her hairless head, holding on for her life as the slave Imp pleasured her, reaching in for as much as the spunk as she could draw out, drinking down the dripping juices of her mistress’ pussy.

“More! Deeper!” Lady Cottontail wanted as much of the agile tongue into her as she could get, and she humped down on the demon’s face, though she lacked the strength to push her to the ground. She climaxed, squeezing Impa’s tongue tightly with her internal muscles and gushing her juice down onto her mouth. Her legs gave out, and Impa simply held her in the air, clasped to her face and continued to drink from her well.

Finally, she gently laid the rabbit-spirit down on her back on the floor, and pulled her tongue from the pussy with a loud slurp, satisfied she’d cleaned as best she could. The smell of the rabbit-spirit’s arousal had left her with her own needs now, but she waited. Her head hung, she felt a flush of shame at being reduced so quickly from a proud princess with a fantastic trophy to a… a… personal hygiene slave for this…. this… powerful being. She decided then, that perhaps there was no shame after all.

A flash of blue light caught her eye. Over on the platform, by the steps up to the control room that overlooked the pool on the left side, the Space Marine had reclaimed his soul. He lay on his back, gasping and blinking, momentarily exhausted, and reviewed the events of the last few hours. The demons had beaten him and used him. His friends had been slaughtered and he’d laid with one of their killers like a cheap whore, pleasuring her on command. He felt like he’d lost his honour, he who’d disobeyed direct orders to fire on civilians, who’d always done what was right.

He reached for his pistol, thinking seriously about just ending it all, but it was gone from its holster. Then anger flared within him – he wasn’t a quitter, damned if he was.

The anger fuelling him, he pulled out the rocket launcher and aimed it at the kneeling unmoving Impa, looking straight into her red eyes.

End of part 4!