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As the final rocket slid neatly into it's exposed cranium, the Icon of Sin gave an ear splitting roar. It began to writhe in pain, cracks forming all around it's gargantuan skull. Flames and small explosions began escaping from them, growing more fierce and louder with every passing moment.
Suddenly, one final, massive explosion, big enough to level a skyscraper, ended the abomination's suffering. Chunks of demonic flesh and bone were flung all around the Lovecraftian room that housed the Icon, drenching it with viscera. It shook, like an earthquake was passing through, but did not collapse like the monster it contained.
Such a dramatic end easily overshadowed those of the Icon's minions, who had tried desperately to protect it. As though punishment for their failure, the spawn began to unleash pained cries of their own - few managed to finish them. Some collapsed unceremoniously into piles of meat, as if drained of their life force. Others blew up like the Icon, their mechanical power sources severed, and yet others simply melted away into an alien brown goo, like the covering the floor of the room. No more monsters came out from what used to be the Icon's gaping maw.
The marine could hardly believe it. Not only had he successfully destroyed the source of the demonic invasion, but he was alive to speak of it. He was barely standing, drenched in sweat, blood and demon guts, and with no shortage of scars and wounds, but alive. He had made peace with death, figuring the monsters around him would finish him if the mother demon did not. Yet, he lived. Through what divine intervention, or for what purpose, he did not care to guess at.
After a period of dumbfoundedness, he began to laugh like a maniac, all his inhibitions gone like the demons. He collapsed in a haze of ecstasy, before getting a hold of himself, regaining his senses. He sat upright, propping him up with his trusty rocket launcher and the cold wall at his back.
For the first time what felt like days, he allowed himself to relax. He took slow, deliberate breaths, taking in all the air his lungs could handle, savouring every moment. His muscles cheered at their newfound freedom and relief, well earned after a long and grueling campaign.
A while later, he was rested up, strong enough to stand again. He turned his focus onto the room he was in. He paid little mind to it before, his sole goal to rid the world of the demonic invasion that had plagued it. But now that he had once again some small hope of returning home, he studied the room carefully.
The walls of the room were indescribably alien, some kind of pulsating, murky organism. It smelled like rotting viscera, though it no longer affected him. He knew from experience that not even a chainsaw could cut through it. No chance.
The steps he raised in his fight with the demons seemed to be made of a green and grey stone. He would have concluded it were moss, if not for the dry, sharp texture. They, like the walls, stayed intact after the fight had concluded. He had a feeling they would withstand rockets quite well.
He turned back to look at what remained of the demon head of the head demon. The explosion was so large, it left behind a crater on the wall, with only shards of bone still attached. It wasn't covered in the fleshy texture of the other walls - it was simply black and featureless. The Marine couldn't see anything through it, least of all a way out. However...
He picked up his rocket launcher, and carefully fired a few of the rockets he had left over from the prior fight. His aim was much better without demons trying to kill him - all of them struck the crater, all exploded.
Suddenly, light! It was a reddish, hazy, hellish light that had become all too familiar to him, but light nonetheless. He shot at the speck of light with his remaining rockets, which expanded the opening into a hole that he felt confident he could climb into and squeeze through.
The sky was blood red, cloud like shapes swirling amongst it. A few dead trees, with branches gnarled and twisted in every which way, littered the horizon in front, rooted in a soft, beige floor, not unlike Earth sand. Typical Hell decor, as far as he could tell.
No clear way to get home, sure, but he figured that if he could get into Hell, he could sure as hell make it back out. Retracing his steps ought to he easy, just following the trail of corpses he had left. That is, if whatever killed all the demons inside the "headquarters" didn't affect those outside, too. Though a lack of opposition would be quite the silver lining, and give him all the time he needed to find the way out.
He was going to take no chances either way. Rocket launcher spent, he took out his trusty double barrel shotgun, loaded it with two fresh shells, and jumped down to the lower level step. Of all the weapons he had found, this was his favourite - easy to use, powerful, and effective against most anything. It made him feel unstoppable.
As he was about to jump down the next step, he heard it - the unmistakable snarl of a demon. It was delicate, hushed, almost pitiful. Blood rushed through him in response, self defence mechanisms running in his head. He was back on high alert, shotgun clutched tightly. Even a weakened demon could kill.
Scouting the area, he saw nothing but giblets, pools of drying blood and a few corpses. Those corpses had all bled out from multiple, heavy wounds. It didn't take a doctor to know that if they weren't dead, they were in no state to move, let alone attack. As he considered lowering his gun, he heard the demonic cry again, spiking his nerves. As quiet as it was, it didn't sound hurt. It was close.
The only thing near him was a body laying at his feet. It was that of a floating, spherical demon. Since the first time he saw one, he could only picture them as mutated, spiky tomatoes with a face. Tomatoes more aggressive than rabid dogs. It looked about as brutalised as the rest of the demons, if not worse. Still, he leaned in to take a closer look.
Torrents of blood had oozed out from what appeared to be pellet holes, dyeing the demon blue all over. It's single, great eye was pierced, deflated, it's viscous juices mixing with the blood into an unholy cocktail. Some teeth lay in the pool of blood and eye fluid, torn from the demon's mouth. There was no doubt in the marine's mind it was dead and gone.
And yet, the sounds WERE coming from the carcass. Not only that, but there were some subtle movements at the back, a fidgeting, almost. The marine circled it slowly, now more curious than cautious.
Unlike the rest of it's body, there was a dash of green at the monster's backside, polished like glass. It resembled the eye of the dead demon at the front. Moving towards the noise, the iris shifted towards him, staring.
He found himself staring back at this anomaly for some time, wondering what it could be. It seemed passive enough. Perhaps it was tired, resting? But a demon was a demon, so he knew what must be done.
Before he could raise his shotgun, the eye cried out, and pushed itself forward, culminating in a comical "plop" that ejected it from the host demon's backside.
It looked like a shrunken down version of the monster it came out of. So shrunken in fact, that it could fit in the palm of his hand. It's skin was just as brightly (though blue in many places). The skin was smoother, and the spikes shorter, and more rounded. The teeth were just as sharp as it's host, but much shorter. Even the long canines were barely an inch in length.
He had finally pulled up his firearm, preparing to shoot. Even a young demon was dangerous, and needed to go. It looked up at him, blinking rapidly with it's eye and gurgling at him. The sound was barely demonic, almost...cute. It bounced gently against his leg, trying in vain to scale it. It was gentle with its biting, not piercing his trousers with it's teeth. It couldn't even fly yet.
Multiple times, he told himself, compelled himself, demanded of himself, to pull the trigger, to end this miserable display and get out of here. But it persisted. Something deep inside him called out for mercy for the wretched creature. After all, if it wanted to harm him, it could've bitten down harder. It certainly had the teeth for it. Did this thing really remind him of...
He was wasting time. He needed to get back home. After a final, futile attempt, he sighed, shaking his head angrily. Taking one last look at the tiny thing below him, he turned, and began climbing down the remaining steps. As he did so, he heard the demon youngling following, squeaking, bouncing, rolling, trying to keep up as best it could.
As it leapt off one of the steps, many times it's size, the man instinctively threw his weapon aside and caught it. The baby demon, totally unaware of the danger it was just in, grinned with it's toothy mouth and gave off more noises of satisfaction.
Well, that was that. He couldn't abandon it now. Snorting, with pained smile, he coddled the demon in his arm, like he once did with Daisy. What was he doing? For once, he cursed his love of small, cute, defenceless creatures.
And how would he explain this to what was left of the UAC? So many of their own killed by demons, and here's one kept as a pet? He figured he's cross that bridge if he came to it. Besides, his BFG was a good counterargument he could present, should the situation arise.
He picked up his gun, stored it with the others, then resumed his egress from hell, keeping the child close.