The thunderous boom of the storm split the cold, dry air as soldiers clapped their hands over their ears and generals visibly shuddered at the deafening noise. It was coming up on the end of the first month since their deployment to the Titans Realm, a barren hellish realm of ash clouds, blood rain, and the deceased bodies and rotting corpses of giant arch demons and soldiers alike strewn about the mud and viscera covered ashen ground.

A single soldier trudges through this wasteland, the filth sticking to his sabatons and the flurry of ash drifting from the sky landing on and ruining his white tabard and leather armor. He walked past embankments, siege weapons, fellow comrades and bunkers, heading towards the lavish golden tent at the far end of the field. Once he reached it, he stepped into the spacious tent, and bowed deeply, before hearing his first command.

"Rise warrior." The regal voice was melodious and commanding, instilling a sense of both respect and comfort.

"Greetings Brother Mikhail," He raised a scroll towards the high ranking official, "I come bearing information from our glorious conquest into the Realm of Titans."

"Thank you noble warrior," Mikhail placed the scroll on a small table next to his chair, "is that all?"

The soldier shuffled his feet slightly and nervously glanced at the floor. "I do sir, I was curious as to why we simply cant use the heavy artillery to obliterate the defender."

"If we use them like that, then we could force him to seal the entrance with the skull he's fashioned as a door, and as we both know, Arch Balgaar Demon skulls are very durable. In addition to that, it is a far more favorable alternative for him to then simply collapse the internal corridors of the Necropolis, slowing us down considerably."

"But then why has he not just sealed himself down there?"

"Because we have time on our side," Mikhail began to pace around his tent, "he may not age, but he still requires food and water, which he will eventually run out of down in the city. We, on the other hand, have access to worlds and whole realms of supplies."

"Then we should just force him down into the Necropolis and wait him out!" The mans voice raised slightly in confidence.

"And give him time to prepare, and possibly destroy the city in order to deny it to us? No, we need to eliminate him before we proceed."

"Understood sir," The soldier bowed once more before exiting the tent, "I bid you farewell."

"Ah yes, good day." Mikhail glanced out the opening of the tent, staring at the blood drenched wasteland they were fighting for. He looked down at the scroll, and picked it up, smiling to himself as he unfurled the scroll.

"Soon the Necropolis will be ours, this siege will not take long..."

ONE WEEK LATER

Mikhail growled to himself as he clenched his armored fist. The messenger before him trembled in his boots and suddenly took a serious interest in the floor. The commander glared harshly at the goblet of wine he held in is hand.

"Say that again."

"T-the latest report says that the..." The soldier paused to look at the scroll again, "...ahem, 'Doom Slayer' has joined in the defense of the Necropolis."

"Thank you," his voice was harsh and blunt as he waved to the exit, "you may leave now."

FIVE YEARS LATER

"HOW IS ARE THEY NOT DEAD YET?" Mikhail tore the scroll in half in a fit of blind rage, the angry look on his face contrasting with the fearful glances of lower ranking officials.

"Sir, the Slayer has been a serious issue since he joined in defense, and even with an additional half decade of support from the Dark Lord of the 4th Age, his abilities negate sleep, food, water and even ammunition consumption, allowing him to continue."

"WELL THEN WHAT ABOUT THE OTHER ONE?" He screamed in fury, smashing his table into splinters. The last five years had been taxing on the entire empire, with countless millions of soldiers dead, and the defenders of the Necropolis hadn't budged even a foot.

"We honestly don't know why he hasn't starved several times over, but he shows no signs of slowing."

"Get me more troops," he looked around at the silent commanders, "what?"

"Sir, if this continues, there will be no soldiers left, and we've already taken a massive risk by forming an alliance with the Demons." A few weeks after the Doom Slayer had joined in to defend the Necropolis, the demon lord had sent his forces to fight alongside Mikhail's own. But even after a half decade, nothing had changed, and the military was getting very, very desperate.

After some violent fuming, the brass left the room, letting Mikhail stew in his own thoughts.

TEN YEARS LATER, FIFTEEN YEARS SINCE THE SEIGE BEGAN

Mikhail was silently lacing up his armor and sharpening his sword. He had spent enough time lounging about in a tent while he sent warriors to die. The higher ups had gotten far more desperate than he though, and they had started to contract military support from every corner of the realms.

In the ten years since the demons had came onto the scene, they had gotten military assistance in the form of scourge beasts from Yharnam, abyssal monstrosities like Darkwraiths and the Pus of Man from Lordran and Lothric, as well as Infected monsters like Brawlers and Goliaths from the viral world of Blacklight, which charged into battle right alongside the forces of Corruption and Crimson from Terra, as well as some more traditional evils like Orcs, Urikhai, N├Ązgul, Trolls, and Ringwraith Dragons from Middle Earth, courtesy of lord Sauron.

But so far, nothing had changed. The only positive news received as that the Doom Slayer had jumped down the entrance for unknown reasons, leaving a lone defender to hold off an army of darkness.

Mikhail slid the elegantly crafter saber into its decorative sheath and left his tent.

As he trudged across literal mountains of dead bodies, as he blood and ash and mud clung to his boots, and his cape whipped in the wind, he forged ahead. As he neared the current scene of battle, the army stopped, and backed up, forming a large circle about a mile away from the entrance to the Necropolis.

He strode into the clearing, glaring at the massive, horned skull that represented the entrance to the city his army had fought tooth and nail for for over a decade. To his far left and far right, giant maze like piles of colossal twisted bones from ancient beasts and demons, and directly behind the entrance, a massive mountain range of glassy, black volcanic obsidian, the great peaks of which extended far beyond the swirling and churning clouds of ash in the sky.

The storm had been raging, disgorging blood, ash and lighting for as long as anyone could remember, or could care to remember, for the Titans Realm was an unloved place, as far from life and beauty as could be, and located literally at the edge of hell, placed on top of a massive, sprawling underground deathtrap and part time abandoned city, which contained the most dangerous artifact to ever exist.

As if on cue, a massive bolt of black and red lightning struck far in the distance, temporarily illuminating the battlefield. Mikhail strode forward with renewed confidence and vigor, right into shouting distance of his opponent, the long defender of the Necropolis, who was currently removing his weapon from the body of a cleric beast.

"You!" Mikhail shouted, "You have fought well, monster," he spat the word out like a rather vile curse, "But this is the end. You will die here, and we will take the Necropolis." He waited for a few seconds for a response.

"I'd say fuck off and go to hell," the lone defender gestured around him at the bodies, bones, ash and blood rain, "but..." earning a short chuckle from Mikhail.

"Any last words?"

"Oh yeah," He turned towards the entrance, and shouted a single word, "NOW!"

Deep within the bowels of the Necropolis, the Doom Slayer activated a series of planted explosives, demolishing and sealing off large parts of the Necropolis, barring all entrance or exit. Back on the surface, as flames and smoke belched up from the throat of the massive skull serving double time as an entrance, the defender raised his hand, closed it, and threw it down towards the ground, telekinetically slamming the skull over the entrance, creating yet another barrier.

For all intents and purposes, the Necropolis was inaccessible, leaving a fuming Mikhail and an aghast army, who simply stared at the demolished entrance they had fought tooth and nail for for over a decade and a half.

"You," Mikhails eyes focused on the chuckling armored vanguard, "do you have any idea what you've done!" He screamed, drawing his longsword, "DAMN YOU L, I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE!"

"If we can't have it," he hefted his sword, and the two began to walk towards each other, striding across a field of death, "no one can."

The two broke into a sprint, their armored feet pounding on the ground. The reached the middle, clashing swords as a bolt of black and red lightning slammed into the ground next to them. Despite his anger, Mikhail fought well, with carefully timed swings and slashes that tried to dance around the guard of his opponent, meeting the wild, frenzied slashes and hacking chops of L, their two swords clashing and scraping together in flurries of sparks.

Mikhail fought gracefully, with elegant footwork and trained fluidity, where L dodged, ducked and slammed his feet into the ground, his movement just as erratic as his strikes. The clashed in the middle once more, a brilliantly polished, spotless silver long sword, grinding harshly against the bloodstained, ash covered black steel.

The swords slipped, each being caught by the others guard, either the twin, upwards sloping rounded quillons of Mikhails blade, catching in the twisted mass of black horns protruding from the hilt of L's greatsword. The backed up and swung again, L launching a double handed crushing overhead blow, which Mikhail barely blocked with a horizontal block. The two were caught again in a literal shoving match, each trying to overpower the other with raw strength.

Mikhail regarded his opponent with his two brilliant eyes, analyzing his opponent with twin, golden orbs. His regal, angelic face, complete with coppery skin, was twisted into an expression showing his exertion and anger. His long, 24 karat flowing golden hair framed his face perfectly.

His armor was beautiful, well crafted with elegant ornamentations and fluted edges, with detailing inlaid with gold on silver plates. On his chest was a long, pristine, white tabard, emblazoned with a large gold cross, which seemed to glow slightly in the dim hellish light. In the joints of his polished plated mail was well crafted, fine silver chainmail. A long white cape with another golden cross flowed from his shoulders, flapping in the wild wind.

Though some miracle or magic, the blood rain simply ran off him, not drenching him or staining his cloth. On his back, were two, large, feathered wings, like that of a dove, with snowy white feathers, symbolizing his position as an Arch Angel. He poured more power into himself, creating a faint, golden aura around his body, as he pushed forward and shifted the position of his blade so that his was pushing down, and L was horizontal.

L glared at the angel in a hateful, wrath filled glare of fury and murder. He strained his muscles, and felt them pressing against the plated armor he wore. Overlapping plates of rough, black, ash and blood covered steel, forged to look almost like twisted wrought iron. His forearms strained in their plated gauntlets and vambraces, the dull sheen of blood and viscera decorating the plates, and dripping off the curved horns on the elbows and shoulders of the armor.

Around his waist was a torn, black, knee length waist cloth, worn under his chest plating but under his leggings. The torn edge ran from his lower left thigh, diagonally down to his right knee. The edge was smoldering, shedding embers and glowing with a harsh reddish-orange light. His shoulders sported a similar cape witch ran down to his lower shins, and featured the same smoldering edge. In the unarmored joints was a series of rough, black chainmail links.

In the center of his chest plate was a hole, a black pit of darkness, surrounded by a ring of molten metal. The ring of fire, a burning seal around darkness was a favorite symbol of his, and granted an intimidating, otherworldly air to him.

He growled, exposing a set of pure white teeth, complete with four sharp, bladed fangs in each jaw, totaling eight. Had he opened his mouth, Mikhail would have seen the long, thick, glowing red forked serpentine tongue. Ls eyes glared with the ferocity of the red fire that burned in his blackened soul, staring pointedly into Mikhails golden eyes with two bloody eyes. His scleras were pure black, so dark they seemed to draw in surrounding light like a black hole, contrasted by the twin, hexagonal irises, that glowed a bright, vibrant and malicious crimson, like the hottest hellfire.

His ears, two pointed, fin-like organs with black struts and a glowing red material in between. His skin was an unhealthy pallor, being very, very pale, further accented by the dark circles underneath his red eyes. His long, wild mass of jet black hair whipped around in the wind, forming a look that Earth Humans would find eerily similar to that of Alucard from Hellsing.

Jutting out of his head were two thick, twin, curved black bone horns, that rose up for 4 inches, before sharply curving backwards for an additional 8, where it terminated in a sharp point, which dripped with blood and viscera. Within his armored suit, he could feel his limbs flexing, he could feel the black scales on his forearm pressing against the cool metal, he could feel the thick scales on his calves burning from nearly 15 years of constant fighting. His three toed, clawed dragon feet were aching in his steel boots.

Protruding from his rear, just where his tailbone would end, was a long tail. Measuring in at 8 feet, and layered in rows of glossy black scales. The underside of his tail featured a series of large, broader ventral scales, colored in that vibrant red glow that adorned his eyes. This tail was also covered in armor, the same style of black steel plating as the rest of his body, the only exception was the last foot, which featured a large paddle like structure which featured broad, flattened cutting edges and a wicked point, giving him a very effective backup weapon.

But his most notable features were on his back. Whereas Mikhail had two large feathered dove wings, L had two, gigantic scaled dragon wings, layered with tough, glossy black scales on the outside, and a muted, dark crimson on the inside, which glowed only faintly, but still illuminated the surrounding area. When folded, the wings would have reached from above his horns to his ankles, a measurement that would equal about 6 feet and 7 inches. When extended, from wingtip to wingtip, his total span measuring just under 30 feet.

In a flash of power, Mikhail formed a flash of white energy, temporarily blinding L and giving him time to back up. Quickly shaking the white from his eyes, L growled and charged forward, sword raised. Mikhail met him with a neat parry and a slice across the chest, bringing sparks out from the metalwork.

Slightly stunned, L had accidentally given the angel an opening, and he capitalized with a series of quick slices and thrusts, only interrupted when caught the sword with his gauntlet and threw it back, before slamming his foot into Mikhails chest.

In the 15 years of the siege, an expression had formed, the expression was, 'Mikhail will cut you, but L will tear you apart.'. This saying could not have been more literal as L de-summoned his sword, preferring to attack with bare appendages, swinging with incredible strength, streaking towards Mikhails head.

Deciding to face him on a similar footing, Mikhail quickly sheathed his sword and threw an impressive punch, just missing L, and giving him a chance to deliver a blustering uppercut, launching the angel into the air. With a quick wingbeat, L shot into the sky after him, fire in his eyes and fist as he summoned a ball of seething black and red flame in his right.

Trying to gain more distance, Mikhail beat his dove wings again, sending him higher and higher, until they reached the ash clouds. When he had enough space, Mikhail drew his hand back, enveloping it in a bright white aura of energy, and shot down towards L. Their fists connected, creating a large explosion of energy, blowing away clouds and creating a thunderous boom.

Above the clouds was even worse, where the dull grey ash clouds turned in a titanic swirling maelstrom of demonic lightning and blood droplets, the main system forming a jagged, uneven hurricane above the primary cloud layer. Huge tendrils and massive bolts of that black and red lightning illuminated the storm system, occasionally swirling around in tornado like formations. The bolts also jumped to L and Mikhail, arcing across their armor and sinking into their forms. Neither needed the boost, but they both could draw some strength from it. Each glaring at the other, Mikhail decided to speak first.

"How," his voice boomed across the hellscape, "how can you live here?" He gestured around with his hand.

"I was born here," L drew his sword again, "where else would I go?"

"Where would you not go?" Mikhail drew his sword as well, "you can travel anywhere you want."

It was true, but L felt a connection to his life in the Titans Realm. It was isolated, and the first place he could remember. In truth, he had no idea what he was, where he was from, or anything else beside the fact he was good at fighting.

(Flashback)


He just, woke up one day, facedown in the blood and ash, a dozen feet from the skull that served as the entrance to the Necropolis. It took him a few hundred years before he decided to name himself, and he settle on L for no particular reason.

A few centuries later, he decided he needed a last name, incase something else was called L, so he chose Lawliet, again for no real reason. It had been 2 thousand years since he woke up when he met another being. It wore green and a mask, and carried weapons that L somehow knew were guns.

While wandering through the city, they met, in a small chamber surrounded by bones of some ancient civilization. After battling each other to a standstill, they tried communication. The strange green one was not very sociable, and L had never said a word in his existence.

Several days later, and a language formed, the two became best friends. The green one called itself William Joseph Blazkowich the Third, and told L that he was from a place called Argent D'Nur, and that he was on his way out of the city, having been teleported there by someone else. Wanting to stay with his only friend, L asked William if he could join him, to which the man said yes. Over the years in isolation, L had perfected a form of magic that would be known as synthesis, where he spontaneously generated materials and objects from thin air.

Through careful thought, he decided that the best weapon was a large, pointed bar of sharp metal, with a long stick at the end to hold and swing. It was rough, and unformed, being black and ash covered, with a thick, unbalanced, twisted hunk of a blade, christened 'Genesis'. It was brutally effective.

The first being L had met became his best friend. He killed the second, split the skull of an imp with one swing.

It ignited a fire in him, and he joined William in his conquest to kill all demons. The two spent the next several millennia doing just that, until William returned to Argent, his mission complete for the time, and L decided to travel. After years of practice, he became skilled enough in magic to enter dimensions at will, and see the sights of the multiverse.

There was one species that always seemed to be around, one that he grew to hate and love; Humanity. They were selfish, arrogant, cruel and immature, with a penchant for senseless violence and destruction. So he rectified the situation in the only way he knew how. More violence.

On worlds where humanity had become too evil to stomach, where they slaughtered each other in droves in the name of a higher power, land, wealth, or even peace, however that worked, L fixed it.

For thousands of years, L razed countless civilizations to the ground, purging dozens of worlds from them, cleansing the multiverse from the cancer of humanity. But one day, as yet another planet burned in nuclear fire and plasma scorch marks scarred the land, the very continents split apart, swallowing the world in the planets core, he found hope for them.

A little girl, aged for 10 human years and absolutely dwarfed by L's Titan form, a more powerful physical form, which increased both size and strength greatly, looked up at him in fear. She had no idea what he was, but she knew he was dangerous, but she had no one left. L looked into her heart and saw, for the first time, good.

He knelt down, all 16 feet of his Titan Form on the ground before her. He took pity on this small human, and granted her strength and knowledge, enough to help the remains of humanity that inhabited the world. The power to create, and the ability to teach others to use a hidden strength, which protected them like an aura.

They spoke, the young girl with godly powers talking to a great demonic destroyer in the remnants of a broken world with an alien language she understood and spoke perfectly. He told her his story, his mission, and finally, information. How to harness the world and her power, to save this world and let it heal.

When he was done, he left, massive wings carrying him into the sky, then the atmosphere, then space, the final frontier. With incredible power, he formed a great wormhole in the sky, and left, leaving behind a girl with the body and soul of a god, watching his form dance across the shadow of the shattered moon.


(Flashback End)

"RRRAH!" L shouted, his sword slamming into Mikhails sword, throwing him into the ground. He followed, streaking through the clouds like a meteor, bringing his vengeful fury into the hellscape below him.

Standing up shakily, Mikhail raised his blade, charging again to meet Lawliet. Angelic Silver met Demonic Steel, and two capes, one silver, one black, fluttered in sync in a field of death. For hours this continued, neither able to gain the upper hand, as each strike seems to glance off the others armor.

Hoping to end the fight, L quickly thrust his great sword forward. This would be a serious mistake, as Mikhail expertly parried, rolled over his shoulder, and sliced off his left wing. As the large limb made a thump and dropped to the ground, Lawliet screamed in pain, and blindly lashed out.

His armored tail, with the large, spade like blade made contact, severing Mikhails right wing. Now both were on the ground in extreme pain. Unfortunately, it was Mikhail who stood first, breath ragged and sharp, golden ichor pouring from his back. He stalked over to Lawliet, who was hunched over on the ground.

He raised his silver sword, and plunged it downwards, thrusting through Ls back and armor, spearing him and impaling him directly in the center of his chest.

Whipping up, around and throwing a wild backhand, Lawliet knocked Mikhail back and onto the ground. He dropped down, his single dove wing fluttering in the mud weakly. Lawliets chest heaved, his draconic heart trying to operate while a spike of angelic silver was punched through it.

The stump where is left wing should be stung and ached in a pain he had never felt in all his countless years of existence, back blood the color of night gushing from the wound and leaking from his chest and back. It was his turn, and he raised his arms, sword in hand, and plunged down.

His strike nailed Mikhail in the center of his chest and driving the breath from his lungs as he was pinned to the ground. Slowly, L watched and grinned demonically while the life faded from the eyes of the angel, his eyelids closed, and he breathed his last, painful breath, and died in a world he hated.

But he had left his mark, in the form of a steel blade rammed through Ls chest. Now it was his turn to cough up blood and lie on the ground in pain and die. It was at that moment he thought. Of his life, and those he met. He remembered waking, existing for years, meeting William, fighting demons, traveling, burning worlds, slaughtering foes, and then the change.

The little girl he met in the ashes of a dead civilization, and the powers he gave her. That moment changed him. He hated humans as a whole, but some gained his respect.

Humans he met like Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark and James Howlett, or Logan as he preferred.

Great warriors like Aragorn, Talion and Boromir, explorers like Steve and Alex, scientists like Gordon Freeman and Mercer had earned his respect. Even tyrants, people like Johnathan Irons, Magneto and Saruman.

Their power inspired him. Not strength, which he had in spades, but their will, to not just survive, but live.

So he built.

Instead of breaking worlds, he found those already struggling and saved them.

In Yharnam, he founded and trained the hunters, created the Hunters Dream and the Workshop.

In Middle Earth, he founded the Rangers of Gondor to defend the Black Gate of Mordor.

He assisted Gordon in his battle against the Combine and Mercer against Blackwatch.

But the world he had the most influence was unnamed.

There were three main continents, Lordran, Drangleic and Lothric. He created the lord souls and guided Gwyn in his war against the dragons, personally training his son in combat and magic. The Firstborn and L created the Warriors of Sunlight, and the Abyss Watchers respectively.

Lawliet also founded the Ringed Knights, fearsome pyromancers knights who wore armor emblazoned with Ls seal, a ring of fire around a field of darkness. They wielded armor and weapons of black steel said to be created in the fire of the abyss, but it was in fact forged in the fires of hell itself. Their weapons were brutal and effective, like the Ringed Knight Spear, the Ringed Straight Sword, and even the Paired Great Swords.

But L did keep the best for himself, like the Ringed Knight Halberd, Daggers, Axes and Hammers. But his best weapon was the Ringed Knight Greatsword, his personal weapon, and the one now hilt deep in the angel beside him. The armor L wore was that of his faithful knights, excluding the hood and attaching a full length cape.

He was confident his legacy would continue. Before the siege began, he visited the world with the little girl, now named Remnant. With a moon just as broken as it was millennia ago, L came to a vibrant world of nature, green with life and love. In addition to the humans that had recovered, he also saw and met faunus, humans with animal features.

These humans seemed to have risen above somewhat. Yes, there was crime, but there always would be. They created beautiful cities and funny technology, out of glowing magic crystals they called Dust, but Lawliet instantly recognized as Lesser Titanite gems. They also all seemed to have this aura that protected them, and powers they called semblances. It seemed the girl had been hard at work.

But there was evil, and not just him. The dark creatures, the monsters in the night, the grimm. L remembered them, and they remembered him. When L had originally visited the world, he created servants, twisted caricatures of animals, warped by his darkness and magic into murderous demons.

Birds became nevermores, scorpions became deathstalkers, wolves and bears into beowolves and ursai, elephants and gorillas into goliaths and beringals. The list went on, animals after animal morphed into soulless beings of darkness.

And when he was done, he unleashed them on the humans. They died in massive numbers, curshed, clawed, eaten and torn apart by a monster playing god and his army of evil. However, when he left, they changed. Becoming soft at the lack of true competition an leadership.

They eventually found a new master, Salem, the Grimm Queen. She took a much more passive approach to L, referring to work slowly and steadily, as opposed to Lawliets nigh religious fervor, using wild attacks, crushing humans utterly beneath his metal boot.

But when L returned to the world, the grimm had a new master. Salem had set her sights on Amare, and decided L was an obstacle. Thus, the grimm turned on their creator.

Eventually, he found her, living a life among the people of Remnant, changing he age to match, until she left and began anew. They spent days catching up, trading stories and laughing, until something went wrong. A hostile found them, and they were forced to flee, re hiding before she planned to and started again.

It was as soon as he finished creating a safe area for her did he get information that The Empire was coming for the Necropolis, where he first awoke. He bid the girl farewell and returned home, battled for years, and then met his match.

Eventually, his breathing stopped and his heart slowed, and the bright glowing red slowly faded from his eyes. As he passed, he felt his armor disintegrate, and his body began to dissolve into ash that was scattered in the wind.

The smile never left his face.

AN

Hey, I'm back! This story was one I had kicking around in my head for a few days over Thanksgiving weekend, so I've pumped put the first chapter. You can expect another chapter of this and Team DARK within 10 days, so keep an eye out for that. Please review and let me know what you think, but know that if you just flame me and dont provide any real constructive criticism, I will delete your review. Thanks for reading

-Athk0r3