Doom Slayer Ends Up in the DMC Universe

The battlefield was drenched in chaos, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and ozone. The fusion demon—an unholy amalgamation of Doom's Tyrants and a Demon King from the depths of DMC's underworld—let out a distorted screech as the Doom Slayer delivered his final, devastating blow. His fist, armored and unrelenting, tore through the abomination's skull, splitting its grotesque form apart. Gore and eldritch energy exploded outward, painting the fractured pavement in its unholy remains.

But victory was short-lived.

A deep, guttural hum filled the air as the Hell Rift, already unstable, shuddered violently. The immense portal, a swirling vortex of crimson and black energy, began to collapse in on itself, its chaotic forces reaching critical mass. Tendrils of warped energy lashed out like living things, cracking the earth beneath it and distorting the sky above.

Nero stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the blinding glow. "Uh… I don't think that was supposed to happen!"

Dante, standing tall with Ebony & Ivory still smoking in his hands, squinted against the pulsating energy. "Not exactly how I'd close a portal, but hey, style points."

Vergil, arms crossed, observed in silence, his cold blue eyes narrowing as he analyzed the event. Something was wrong. The Rift wasn't merely closing—it was consuming everything around it.

And it wasn't done yet.

The Doom Slayer, still gripping his Crucible, turned to leave the battlefield. But as he took his first step, the Rift flared violently. A monstrous pulse erupted from its core, sending out shockwaves that cracked the ruined city even further. Buildings buckled under the strain, their skeletal remains crumbling into dust.

Then came the tendrils.

Serrated arcs of dark energy whipped out, lashing through the air like grasping hands. One struck the Slayer directly, wrapping around him in an instant. He barely reacted, his immense strength keeping him rooted—until another pulse surged through his armor. The Praetor Suit crackled with unstable energy, and for the first time, he felt resistance beyond the mortal and demonic realms.

Vergil's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Fascinating."

Nero took a step forward, panic rising in his voice. "Hey! What the hell's happening to him?!"

Dante's cocky demeanor shifted to something more serious as he watched the Slayer struggle against the vortex's pull. "Looks like big guy's going for a ride."

Doom Slayer gritted his teeth behind his visor, straining against the Rift's unnatural force. His Crucible glowed violently, reacting to the instability, its ancient power clashing with the demonic energies. He twisted his body, attempting to break free, but the void was relentless. The Rift had chosen him.

Then—one final, devastating pulse.

Reality itself seemed to snap like a fragile thread. The Doom Slayer was yanked off the ground, lifted into the air like a mere ragdoll. The vortex roared, its spiraling mass warping as it consumed him whole. A thunderous boom echoed through Red Grave City as the Hell Rift imploded, sucking in debris, demonic corpses, and all traces of its existence.

And then—silence.

The battlefield lay in eerie stillness, bathed in the lingering glow of what had just transpired.

Vergil's arms lowered slightly, his gaze fixed on the empty space where the Slayer once stood. "He's gone."

Nero clenched his fists. "What the hell was that?!"

Dante exhaled, scratching the back of his head as he surveyed the destruction. "Well, that's one way to make an exit."

Darkness. Silence.

Then—

A sudden rupture of light. The Doom Slayer tumbled through the void, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer weight of existence itself bending around him. He had faced death, demons, and destruction, but this… this was different.

Flashes of distorted images flickered before him—ruins of ancient civilizations, castles bathed in eerie moonlight, figures wreathed in unholy flames. A glimpse of something familiar yet utterly alien. Sparda's power—twisted, distorted beyond recognition.

Then, a voice. Deep, guttural, reverberating through the abyss.

"You… do not belong… but you will serve…"

A force unseen wrapped around him, an oppressive will pressing against his very being. But the Slayer knew only one response to such threats.

He resisted.

His hands clenched into fists, the Crucible still burning in his grip. He fought against the void itself, pushing forward, refusing to yield.

Then, without warning—the void spat him out.

A deafening CRASH.

The Doom Slayer collided with solid ground, the impact forming a crater around him. Dust and debris scattered into the air as the echoes of his fall faded into an unfamiliar silence.

The Slayer rose to his feet.

And before him stretched an unknown land, shrouded in mystery and danger.