One moment, Doomguy was curled up like a baby - a baby with a plasma rifle firing a never ending arc of blue flesh-dissolving bolts - but a baby all the same. The demon had managed to get its claw across his stomach, but unsurprisingly this was not the first time he'd been hurt in such a way. A smile met his lips, as he remembered his confrontation with the Cyber Demon those many years ago. He'd come out of that fight barely alive, and this right now, was little different. 

And then before he knew it, a chain of sanity-breaking events took place. A large armoured robot of a kind he'd never seen before, landed beside him with a thud, and added its devastating fire power to his plasma barrage. Beast and soldier fell, reeling from their grievous wounds, and their attack momentarily halted. Doomguy struggled to his knees, the pain in his stomach a searing heat that caused him to grow weaker and weaker by the second. 

Something heavy hit him and exploded, launching him a few feet across the sand. He thought he'd been hit by a rocket, and was expecting to find his legs had gone off in their own direction, but a quick check told him that all was strangely well. In fact, he'd never felt so good! The wound across his stomach had vanished, a staggered claw mark in his green armour a monument to where it had been. 

Doomguy looked around, the chaos of the battle overtaking even his own eagerness for mindless testosterone filled mayhem, and tried to make out friend from foe. He wasn't suited to this kind of warfare; his tales were of compact corridors, filled with demons standing shoulder to shoulder - of treacherous rooms, filled with obstacles and hazards. His skills, as great as they may have been, were ill suited to this slogging fest, in which far greater beings than he contested for dominance. 

"Screw this," he murmured, getting to his feet. "Let's crack this nut." 

There had been times in Hell, and on the moons of Mars, that Doomguy had relied on his legendary speed and agility to carry him by hordes of monsters unharmed. Such a stratagem, effective then, would hopefully prove effective now. 

Dropping his plasma gun into the sand, Doomguy drew his prized chainsaw. The weapon was unremarkable in appearance, but Hell would remember well the suffering it sustained at the hands of its belted blade. 

"One," he said, steadying himself. "Two." His eyes rested on the weakest part of the RoC line. "Three." 

And then he was off, his feet pounding the sand quicker than a human could possibly hope to run under normal circumstances. What looked like an android, seven feet tall with shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, reached out with a clawed hand - and recoiled as Doomguy moved under the attack, and briefly shoved his chainsaw into the machine's abdomen. Before its systems could determine the damage, he had vanished. 

The chainsaw ricocheted from the face of some nameless demon, and plunged into the neck of an armoured skeleton. A man in a balaclava levelled a rifle his way, but Doomguy was gone by the time he'd pulled the trigger. 

The battle whirled around Dooguy as he dodged, butchered, jumped and dived his way through the explosive chaos. Many tried to stop him, and he cut them all down in kind. Before long, a carpet of corpses stood in his wake, and the tide was thinning as he reached the rear of the RoC battle line. 

Fortifications graced him in the distance, a few hundred yards away. He presumed these marked the outer defences of the RoC base - or outpost - or whatever it was he was sent here to destroy. He longed for their tight corridors and the close quarters slaughter that they would undoubtedly offer him. 

He cleared the ground rapidly, his chainsaw chugging and spluttering as it struggled to free itself from the muck that had started to clog the chain. It wouldn't last him much longer, but it'd nearly done its job. Doomguy kept up his sprint, swerving around what he could only guess was an Ogre, but came to a standstill when he was greeted by a solid wall made of some dark alloy. Hellspawn jeered at him from the battlements above, and he found himself weaving in and out of fireballs and lightning bolts. 

This was going to be a long day. 

Or was it? 

The chainsaw hit the sand, as the BFG 9000 came up in his hands. He aimed the mighty weapon towards the battlements, and fired off a round. A big green ball of plasma struck the metalwork, and exploded. Dozens of the Hellspawn were instantly vaporised, and the wall crumbled outwards, providing him with a ramp of rubble to climb to the top. 

Many tried to block his ascent, as more fireballs scorched the ground around him. He replied in kind, firing off more devastating green balls and smiting scores of his foe at a time. 

However, as he stood upon the ramparts of Chaos, he looked back on the battle and awed at its entirety. Thousands were engaged below, as hundreds of dropships spewed forth from the sky - weaving between dog fights conducted by many smaller craft. Yeah, it certainly wasn't for him. He was nobody's cannon fodder. He was a God damned hero, the likes of which the world hadn't seen since 93'... however long ago that was; if he was going to die, it was going to be from suffocation after the masses of his downed enemies eventually smothered him in what would be the biggest corpse pile the Multiverse had ever seen. 

Turning from the carnage, he looked towards the main RoC base - a series of hardened structures and towers, off in the distance. Hundreds upon hundreds more warriors of Chaos were assembling in the space between the base and the outer defences. They were as varied as they were deadly, augmented by mechanised forces and low-flying support craft. Looked to him that they were getting ready to launch a counter attack.

Instead, they were going to hit a wall. A Doom Wall. 

He started to descend to meet them, taking a staircase that would convey him to the next arena; his BFG in one hand, and his knuckle duster in the other.