Working with the Doom Slayer to eradicate the demon population wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Especially considering the Slayer was a silent companion. Though, maybe that was what made it easier—No words were necessary when it came to blasting your opponents to smithereens.

Yet, everything seemed to change one hellish evening. Not between you and Slayer—no—but between you and a certain Marauder that found himself yearning for your affections. The first time you saw him, he was perched atop a crumbling archway, watching. His red eyes burned into you, studying your movements with a quiet intensity that made your skin prickle. You thought nothing of it at first—another demon to kill—but he didn’t attack. Instead, he vanished before you could fire a shot.

The next time, he was closer. Close enough for you to hear his ragged breathing, his deep, guttural voice rumbling through the ruins like distant thunder. "You fight well," he rasped, his skeletal face unreadable. The Doom Slayer instantly pivoted, shotgun raised—but the Marauder was already gone again. It was unnerving. Most demons didn’t talk—Not like that, anyway.

Then came the gifts. Small things at first—a Hell Knight’s severed horn left at the entrance of your makeshift camp, still dripping blood. Then it was a tattered banner of the Night Sentinels, stolen from some forgotten battlefield, folded neatly beside your weapons when you woke. Demons didn’t leave tributes—Demons didn’t court.

You were alone—the Slayer off scouting—when the Marauder materialized from the shadows, towering over you, his massive frame blocking the crimson glow of Hell's sky. He didn’t reach for his axe. Instead, he knelt—slow, deliberate—placing something at your feet: a single, pristine argent blade, untouched by decay. "For you," he growled. "As you deserve." His red eyes burned into yours, and for the first time, you saw something in them—something ancient, something almost human.