(First off, Demo is gonna spout a wee bit'o the ol' Gaelic. I don't speak a word of it, so literally everything he says is going to be a terrible Google Translate interpretation. Also oh god, that first bit sounded way more Irish than Scottish. Dammit, this might suck. Regardless, if you DO understand Gaelic, I'd appreciate any tips on rewriting those parts, given I've no doubt the grammar is atrocious.)
"Ever thought we'd end up like this, Demo?"
"Nae."
"Damn though... life catches up to ye."
The Eyelander had paused for a moment before it beamed the thought into Demoman's mind.
"Aye."
The two of them walked a dusty trail, hanging perilously on the edge of a mountain cliff, slowly climbing the peak. The Demoman wore nothing but a brown robe, falling to his ankles, a black beanie, wooden sandals, and the aforementioned Eyelander, hanging haphazardly by his waistband. They walked mostly in silence, the Eyelander occasionally interjecting.
"Now, Demo, I just have to ask you. I know you saw this Justice guy wipe out your team, but is this really such a great idea? I mean, he blew 'em away in seconds. It was pure luck you lived. Even IF ya find this mythical headband that lets you fight him, how are you gonna win? I swear to god, demo, if you get me killed, I will... ugh. I will KILL you!"
He remembered it like it was yesterday. Pauling had practically dove on the briefcase they brought back that day.
"Back! This one's important!"
Spy had given her an odd look. "More important than a case full of Australium?"
"Yes! Oh god yes this is more important! I was already pushing things just sending you people to recover it! The Administrator might just skin me for that, not to mention letting you keep touching it!"
Spy raised his hands in metaphorical surrender. "Alright, fine, I understand. No touching the briefcase and certainly no touching the priceless object inside it, which is evidently ridiculously valuable, considering what you paid us just to steal it."
"This one goes beyond valuable, Spy. But thanks."
"Not a problem."
At that, Scout slid in, can of light beer in one hand, brain-coated baseball bat in the other, hopping over to Pauling and offering a peck on her cheek, one she was too exasperated to punish with a smack. "Back off, Scout. And clean your damn weapons."
"Yeah, yeah, what's in the box?"
"Need to know basis, Scout. So just back off before-"
The whole time, Demo had been casually drinking from his trusty bottle'o scrumpy, Stickybomb Launcher, Eyelander, and his mainstay, the Grenade Launcher, all strapped to his back, the Chargin' Targe, his shield, removed and on the table next to him. He didn't like to bother Pauling, not just about the objectives, but in general. She was a dangerous woman, something he was... a bit too familiar with, having lived for way way way way way way too long with his mother. Dear God he lived too long with his mother. He was minding his own business, not bothering anyone, when-
CRAAAACK!
It sounded like a gunshot, but not like any damn gunshot he'd ever heard. An instant later, an explosion, and the Engineer's incredulous, panicked voice. "SENTRY DOWN!"
One more gunshot, and the Engineer flew into the room, rolling backwards, landing with his helmeted head facing toward the door he'd just been thrown through. There was a hole the size of his fist in his chest. He obviously had no muscle control from there downward, but he was still fighting. Instantly, he was fighting. Slamming his shotgun, still in-hand onto the ground, he struggled upward, using it as a crutch. He was bleeding out by the second, and yet here he was about to fire at whoever had done that to him. At least... he was ready to shoot, until a third thunderous blast of powder and lead blew his head into a stump, half the size. Pauling and Scout had both drawn pistols and dove behind cover, and Spy was nowhere to be seen, no surprise there.
Demo had only had time to spit his alcohol out his mouth and begin fumbling for his grenade launcher before the appearance of the figure gave him pause.
Demo rubbed at the stump of his right arm, itchy. Phantom pains, everybody called 'em. He just preferred to think of them as his body's way of complaining that he wasn't drunk.
He hadn't had a drop in two months. It hurt. He had trouble keeping down solid food and water for weeks, and even now it was like ash in his mouth. "You're just going to keep walking, aren't you? How do you even know you'll be able to beat the guy on this mountain? You got one arm, Demo! One arm! That is... WAY less arms than the average sword fighter!"
Demo really, really wanted some alcohol. He couldn't drink it. He needed to be on top of his game for this.
"I swear to god! You will need another ancient haunted soul-stealing ghost sword!"
Demo burped.
The Gunslinger, under Engineer's glove, was pulling his entire corpse forward toward the doorway. It seemed it too was desperately, furiously trying to reach the man that had killed it's... greater half. When that man stepped into the room though, he wasted no time in stomping the glove, smashing the Gunslinger to pieces, finally stopping the last of the Engineer's struggles.
He was a monster. A devil made flesh. Eight feet tall, bleached white skin, covered in scars. He wore a Western cowboy getup, shirtless with the exception of a waving black cape and two needless belts. He wore two spurred boots and an oversized pair of tattered chaps, waving with seemingly no wind. The outfit was topped off by his odd, triangular cowboy hat, mostly covering his eyes.
"Y'all can call me Justice."
"SON OF A BITCH!"
Scout dove over the counter he was hiding behind, bat dragging behind him, swinging it with all his force.
"YOU KILLED THE ENGINEER! I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"
A swing, and Demo, in the process of drawing his grenade launcher, cringed, preparing for the bat's impact.
It never came. The figure had swung his hand, smacking the bat out of the hand of the flabbergasted Scout, who wasted no time in drawing his pistol. He, once again, never got a chance. The attacker had drawn his own revolver in a blur, blasting a shot with perfect accuracy, sending the now-headless Scout flying upward. Pauling stared on, eyes blank, as his body slammed limply into the floor between Demoman and Pauling.
The words slipped from her lips, under her breath. "No..."
It was then, finally, that the Demoman lowered his grenade launcher, fire in his eye.
"I'd normally give ye a chance to explain yerself, laddie, but those were two'a me best friends. So ye don't ge' a chance."
He squeezed the trigger, felt the kick. The mechanism launched a pipe bomb out of the barrel of the launcher.
It, like all of the previous attempts at attacks, didn't get far. A bullet interrupted the pipe inches from the barrel, less than two feet from his body. The chain reaction set off the other three loaded grenades. From then on, everything was white.
Demo was nearing the little shack on top of the mountain. He drew Eyelander, frowning. Not that he was unfamiliar with wanton murder, of course, but this was something new.
"So this is it, huh Demo? This is where you die? This is why I don't like you, you know."
"Jus' be quiet, 'Landa. I dun' wannae die wi' ya in me ear, at any rate."
The Eyelander took another pause, legitimately worried about the upcoming fight.
"Right. Fine. I won't say anything unimportant. For a while, anyway."
"Aye. Thanks."
When Demo woke up, the first thing he saw was... white, again. It began fading about the same time he started to hear the ringing. Only in one ear. Deaf in his left one, knew it was gonna happen eventually. He tried to get up. Fell. No arm. Right. Not a problem. Use the other arm. That worked. It's hard. Lots of blood loss. The next thing he saw, as he rose, were the cold, dead eyes of the Medic staring into his from the ground. The doctor was lying next to him, torso filled full of holes. Justice was getting his face pounded in by Heavy, at least for a moment.
The raging bear was screaming something in Russian. He couldn't understand it. Something about Medic, something about... gorshagoop? The language was as foreign to him as... a foreign language. Demo got to his feet, staggering, as Heavy fell to the ground, his throat torn wide open by the sight on his foe's gun. On Justice's gun. Justice... maybe that was what he was. Arioch. The incarnation of vengeance. Stood to reason they'd finally pissed off someone who knew how to summon a demon like that, but... no, this was wrong... they...
Medic snapped to a sitting position, gasping, his eyes bloodshot. His self-healing had recovered him. He dove to his feet, rushing to Heavy, UberSaw flashing for Justice, who didn't make the same mistake he had last time. His gun flew to a new position, blasting Medic to pieces in a matter of seconds.
It was only then that Demo noticed the Soldier.
He didn't have legs.
"AYE! You in there, Uimhir Dha?"
The rickety voice came from deep inside the shack, with a cough and a shudder. "Number two. Creative, but I know those words in... a lot of languages. I assume you're here for the-"
"Headband. Where's the headband?"
Justice stared down at Soldier, who spat on his... upper ankle, equal parts blood and saliva. "I... I WILL NEVER... I WILL NEVER TELL YOU! YOU WILL HAVE TO PRY THAT HEADBAND... OUT OF MY... COLD... DEAD..."
Soldier hacked something up. Something that was supposed to still be inside his body. Demo felt hands on his shoulders, lifting him. "I've got you, Demoman."
Pauling's voice was a massive relief, given he'd caught sight of Sniper's body too, standing against a wall, painted red by the vast majority of his own blood, no longer inside his body.
"We go'a... we go'a... we go'a kill 'em... save... save Solly..."
"He's gone, Demo. But we are going to kill the son of a bitch, I swear to god we'll kill him..."
He only then saw her face, bloodstained, and... tear stained. She was... she'd just watched, he'd just, they'd just...
Oh god.
RED Team didn't exist anymore.
No.
When Demo got to his feet, he wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't thinking anything. Soldier was crawling up the man's ankles, he lifted a foot, and...
The helmet offered no more protection than the skin of a grape.
Demo screamed.
He screamed to the gods, he screamed to the spirits, he screamed to everyone still alive around him, he screamed to himself, he screamed to everyone and no one. His good eye had ignited in flame, he was losing control. Every part of him revolted against his inaction, every part of him refused to stand and watch his friends die and do nothing, but he could not.
So the Demoman screamed. And eventually, that screaming formed itself into words, words he'd listened to through vague conversations as a child, years before, and yet still the words that came before any others.
"GO HILFREANN LEAT, A TRUAMHEALACH CLADHAIRE, LOBHADH I FREANN, LOBHADH I FREANN, SCUM AN DOMHAIN, FUCKIN' SEA SLIME, SHITE I WIPE OFF ME BOOT, DIE A SLOW DEATH, DIE A THOUSAND FUCKIN' TIMES AND KEEP FUCKIN' DYIN'!"
Justice actually laughed. "Judgin' by the second bit, I'm gonna guess you're lucky I didn't understand a word of that first part."
He chuckled again.
"You're gonna inherit the Earth, buddy."
As Demoman charged him, blinded by rage and completely unarmed, Justice whipped out his gun for the dozenth time and blasted him in the chest, sending him flying into a wall. He slid helplessly down it, no choice but to watch Pauling approach Justice.
She spoke, but it was blurry. He couldn't hear, he could barely see. She was screaming too. Screaming about something. Justice chuckled, throwing her to the side with a flick of his wrist, a sickening snap breaking through the fog of semi-conciousness, overpowering the ringing in Demo's ears. Pauling had slammed, back-first, into a marble counter. She hit the ground like a brick as Justice made his way to the briefcase, opening it and laughing out loud.
What was he pulling from it... a long... white...
"...Headband, right?"
"Tha's right."
"All anybody wants..." The voice had to pause to let out a raspy, hacking cough. "These days."