The Doom Slayer had been refusing the entrance to the Ripatorium to the kid. His kid. He didn't want them to be in direct contact with demons, even if the ones there are merely training dummies. And even if he enjoys ripping those damned creatures apart with his bare hands, he didn't want the child to turn out like him. A weapon, a being of pure rage and violence.

But he couldn't keep them sheltered forever, he supposes. And he has to admit that he feels proud, seeing as his protegee shares his hatred for those hellish creatures that have already taken away his humanity.

He stands silently, his stoic eyes fixated on the kid as they tear through hordes of lesser demons. His face shows about the same emotions a rock would have if it was alive, but there's a subtle glint in his eyes that shows how proud he is. And his chest is just a little bit puffed out, as well.

He's been raising this kid well, it seems. A strong, protective child that still retains some degree of innocence. He just doesn't like seeing them drenched in demon blood.