Should we delve into the he used during the loop, or
For fifty-eight minutes, the Doom Slayer had been a whirlwind of jagged armor and kinetic fury. He didn’t breathe; he cycled aggression. Every time the heavy synth riff of "The Only Thing They Fear is You" hit that dissonant, grinding crescendo, another Baron of Hell hit the floor in a spray of molten gore. But something was wrong. The music wasn’t stopping.
The demons felt it first. A Hell Knight charged, its roar lost under the weight of a beat that seemed to vibrate the very atoms of the corridor. The Slayer didn’t even look at it. He caught the beast's jaw in mid-air, timed to the precise moment the snare hit. Snap.
The air in the Phobos base didn’t just smell like ozone and spent brass anymore; it tasted like static.
As the hour mark approached, the Slayer stood atop a pile of charred chitin and cracked skulls. The loop reached its final, most aggressive peak. The air around him began to glow—not from Argent energy, but from the sheer friction of his intent. The music finally cut to silence.
By the forty-five-minute mark, the remaining demons began to retreat. They had seen the Slayer kill before, but never like this. He was moving in perfect sync with a song only he and the burning ruins of the base could hear. He paced the halls, the stomp of his boots landing exactly on the downbeat. A Cacodemon drifted into view, saw the Slayer’s head tilt in time with the distorted guitar melody, and promptly tried to swallow its own eye in terror.
He didn't need the music to continue. He had memorized the beat.
The VEGA system had glitched. The anthem of his carnage was stuck in a temporal feedback loop, the same sixty-second window of earth-shattering bass and screaming industrial metal playing over and over.