The VEGA system had glitched. The anthem of his carnage was stuck in a temporal feedback loop, the same sixty-second window of earth-shattering bass and screaming industrial metal playing over and over.
Thirty minutes in, the Slayer realized the rhythm was his pulse now. He stopped using his guns. The Super Shotgun was too slow for this tempo. He switched to the Doomblade, his movements becoming a blur of choreographed violence. He wasn't just fighting; he was conducting.
The Slayer stood in the sudden, deafening quiet. His chest didn't heave. He simply looked down at his blood-slicked gauntlets, then up at the next reinforced door.
For fifty-eight minutes, the Doom Slayer had been a whirlwind of jagged armor and kinetic fury. He didn’t breathe; he cycled aggression. Every time the heavy synth riff of "The Only Thing They Fear is You" hit that dissonant, grinding crescendo, another Baron of Hell hit the floor in a spray of molten gore. But something was wrong. The music wasn’t stopping.
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