Author's notes: Got some time off before my next exams, so I figured this could probably do with an update. This chapter was originally going to be a lot shorter and less interesting, but I found myself expanding on a segment and then found that flowing into...well, my plans for this one changed a wee bit and should be better because of it, whilst still showing pretty much everything I originally wanted to show (and much more).
As always, I appreciate everyone who has read this, and especially those who like it enough to add it to their favourites/alerts or have taken the time from their busy schedules to drop me a review. Many thanks, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 23: Awakening Nightmares
Drifting through an endless sea of memories and darkness within his mind, Isaac slept. Drowning in the ocean of the past, of war, of bloodshed, of regrets. He thought of his family, of his home, wondering if they still existed, or had she erased them too? Did they even exist? Was it really so far-fetched as to fabricate these memories crushing him, in a world like this?
A world of pain. A world of suffering. A world on the brink of complete takeover, of chaos and confusion, of a new age: an age of darkness.
Sitting atop her throne, he could see her now, commanding her army with that inhuman coldness, that icy cut to her voice, that ever-present look of disgust. Saxton Hale was a man turned beast, but the Administrator...she was a monster, plain and simple. How many lives had she ruined, how far had her control reached, just what was this war to her? How had she come to looking over the battle for land, of moderating the brotherly conflict between the Mann brothers?
Further questions whirled around the fallen Engineer's mind, but he couldn't answer any of them. Fog and flame and rain and lightning, all stirring together into a storm he could not decipher, an enigma he could not solve, a weight he could not lift. Why did his former BLU counterpart look identical to him, why hadn't they noticed sooner? Had he finally ended the reign of Hale? Where...what...?
And so the Demon slept in pain and turmoil, assaulted by his nightmares, his teammates both old and new turning their backs on him. Faces merging, monsters howling, family fading, friends dying...
He slept through the journey away from the landscape he'd carved with his own blade. He slept through the skirmishes that would follow. He slept through the assault, even as the blood of his allies joined his own.
###
Thud, thud. A pause. Thud. Thud. A stumble, a groan of pain, and the thudding continues, slower than before.
Grigori took another pace forward, his face an indestructible stone of rugged determination, his heart booming in his chest with each step. He felt a bullet dig into his shoulder, the armour-piercing round blasting through bone and flesh alike, causing him to halt for but a moment. Teeth clenched and not a sound escaping, the Russian continues forward, adjusting his arms ever so slightly.
For held to his chest and shielded from harm is the slumbering form of the Crimson Demon, still recovering from his battle with the King of Australia himself. Isaac sleeps in his grasp, his body less mangled than it had been a few hours ago and many wounds sealed and healed by the Medigun, but he was still in poor condition. As for the Medic himself...
Nils lay, still conscious, but weak, draped across the Heavy's other shoulder, desperately clutching onto both the man and his Medigun, currently being carefully aimed with one hand at the Russian's form. More bullets and shrapnel, armour-piercing or otherwise, found their way into the plodding man's body, but still he held strong.
The Medic had rushed out to save a few stragglers in their escape as they made their way into the mountains and had been on the receiving end of a powerful concussive blast, his legs broken. The rest of their team were slightly ahead of them, in various states of injury themselves, preoccupied with any enemies that had managed to flank them and providing cover fire for Grigori as he made his way over to cover...
###
Isaac trembled in fear as the Australian advanced, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, his weapons long since lost or destroyed. Was this how it was to end? His act of vengeance, his tribute to his fallen comrades, his task of saving the world from the menace that threatened it...halted by this mere beast?
The Engineer frowned. Something felt...wrong about this whole scenario, as if he'd already been through this, but it had gone differently. A memory, a fleeting glimpse, a shadow on the edge of his mind: hadn't he already won this battle?
Glancing around, he instead found himself back home, idly working with a piece of machinery in his hands, his eyes flickering over to where his guitar stood in the corner. Placing what he recognised as being from the living room clock to one side, he lifted the instrument to his lap and strummed a few notes before realising he had no hands. Eyes wide, the guitar fell to the ground and broke with an almighty racket, prompting his wife to come running in.
Isaac looked at his arms; stumps where his hands were and noted with alarm that even those stumps were eroding away, vanishing into dust. He looked up frantically at his wife and tried to open his mouth, to ask for help, to scream, he didn't know what...but try as he might, he was helpless, left sitting there as his arms dwindled down to dust, his mouth sealed shut as the woman in front of him stood there, her shock turning to an evil grin.
"Say, honey...what was that about you trying to stop me?"
And in an instant his home and his wife (wait...did he even have a wife to begin with?) were gone, replaced with something different. He was bound in chains and connected to some strange wires in some dark room, the sinister form of the Administrator standing expressionlessly to one side as she said something to some other shadowy figure. Her face didn't change as he writhed in agony, electricity coursing through his body, a silent scream embedded into his features as what little remained of his arms vanished with a dusty poof and burning sensation.
Eyes popping, skin smoking, it finally stopped and his head rolled to his chest. He blinked, noticing his goggles were missing, as a light shone into his face. Unable to face the light, he clenched his eyes shut, the light burning him all the same as something was asked. He was silent.
And so his body exploded into agony once more.
###
Kevin sprinted for all he was worth, dodging bullet and explosive shell alike, hopping and spinning through the air, heart racing. Nowhere was safe. It mattered not to where they retreated to, nor what abandoned base they used, they were never safe. Her agents were everywhere; they were always one step ahead and with a massive trap behind.
They were everywhere at once and always ready, attacking from all angles, seemingly tracking their progress with ease even as they fell, one by one. It didn't matter what they did, the numbers were unending and incomprehensible to the boy, who admittedly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.
The Scout did all he could to help his teammates, to distract, to strike back, to buy them time to run to relative safety, to breathe and rest for a few moments before the chase continued. Deflecting a tossed grenade with the back of his hand back in the direction it had been thrown, he fired off a barrage of nails into the nearest foe, some random soldier, from the look of things, before twisting around and firing the modified Force-A-Nature at the hired mercenary sneaking up behind him. The stealth specialist was launched flying into the air and landed with a sickening crunch.
As for the boy? He was long gone, leaping into the air and rolling to a halt behind some shipping crates as a rocket narrowly missed. He found himself face-to-face with Jack, who causally lifted the rifle up and fired off a single shot, the bullet narrowly missing Kevin and instead embedding itself into the RPG-wielding foe in the distance.
The Sniper merely got up, offered a hand to his teammate and slung the rifle across his back, instead notching an arrow into his crossbow. A silent nod was exchanged and the pair looked up to the sight of a flare exploding, telling them all they needed to know.
Ashley, weary and struggling to breathe, the wheezing audible even with the gas mask, stumbled and fell against the railing, flare gun slipping out of their hand as their eyes fell onto the inert bodies of Jane and Isaac, both unconscious...hopefully. With a silent prayer, the Pyro too fell into the darkness...
###
The Demon was fully unleashed, tearing into his opponent and ripping away layer after layer of armour and dignity. Snarling, he brought his shotgun up to bear and fired, the shells clattering to the floor as he smashed the butt of the weapon into his foe's jaw. The enemy took the blow, moving with it and twisting as their fist came to strike the Demon in the gut.
Isaac buckled for a moment before leaping back, narrowly avoiding a powerful kick that would have took out one of his knees. He swiftly raised his chaingun arm and let loose a barrage of merciless incendiary mayhem, the opposing demon merely blocking with one armoured arm as best he could as the other rolled a grenade to the former RED's feet.
The Crimson Demon leapt into the air, curling up into a protective ball at the last moment as the explosive detonated. But, to his surprise, rather than having a storm of fire and shrapnel propel him to the other side of Thunder Mountain, instead he felt the crackle and shock of electrical tendrils grasp his body. With a pained grunt he fell, barely staying upright on one knee as his arm and weapon both sparked and failed.
His arm hung limp, his shotgun turned into melted slag and his gauntlet exploded in his face, leaving behind a mangled hand and blindness in one eye as the shrapnel dug its way in, warm blood trickling down his face. Coughing, he looked up, vision blurring in his good eye as the other Demon grinned, coming to a halt and taking a deep breath before brandishing strange claws that glowed with an otherworldly sheen.
A single good strike and Isaac felt himself coughing up blood as sharp blades pierced his chest. Embedded helplessly on those claws wielded by that nightmarish demon he felt he should recognise, thunder rolled overhead and he felt moisture hit his forehead. Rain? No...
Raising his mangled organic hand to his head, he wiped the spit off, glaring at his opponent with hatred, the demon merely standing there, teeth bared in a sadistic snarl.
With all of his strength, the former RED swung his shoulder, his malfunctioning arm of steel smacking his loathsome opponent in the face, cracking the visor he wore. Not bothering to stop and see the results, he sweeps out with his right leg, breaking a kneecap and bringing his enemy down. With a powerful kick from his other leg the claws leave his chest and the other demon rolls backwards, slowing down to a dusty halt near the edge of a considerable drop.
The Crimson Demon leaps at the chance, and narrowly avoids falling off the edge himself as his opponent quickly gets up and sidesteps to the side. A furious exchange of blows, the shattering of claws, the crunch and grind of metal, the loud thud as a mechanical arm is freed from its union with the human shoulder. Fist strikes jaw, knee strikes gut, foot strikes leg...
Rocks go tumbling off the edge and thunder roars above as rain finally starts to fall, only serving to further spread the taint of blood on the earth. Burning eye stares into burning eye, the flame of the others concealed: one by remnants of a shattered visor, the other by bloodstained shrapnel.
The twin demons tumble and brawl until their energy is almost spent, rolling on top of the other in a bid for dominance until finally they come to a stop, teetering over the edge with Isaac firmly on top. Blow after savage blow rains down onto his opponent's face, intense rage behind every last bit of force behind the pummelling.
His opponent stops putting up any resistance. The Demon doesn't notice.
His opponent stops breathing. The Demon doesn't notice.
His opponent and himself are falling over the edge. The Demon only notices when, as the wind whistles around him and he pauses to catch his breath, that behind the visor, the face he has been destroying is his own...
###
Gabriel brushed dirt off his suit, the gesture clearly out of habit rather than any real attempt to clean the garment: it had gathered so much filth and blood and fluid that it was pointless to do anything with it. As soon as...if they ever got to safety, the suit would probably have to be destroyed, so extensive was the damage.
Not for the first time, he wished he had a cigarette or at the very least, had got some measure of sleep several hours ago. Time was rapidly starting to blur together, as was his vision; although whether that was due to sleep deprivation and exhaustion or blood loss he did not know. What he did know was that whilst he appreciated the concern, the Scotsman's attempts at shielding him from harm were annoying to say the least.
Ewan was standing in front of the Spy, shield at the ready, firing off pipebombs wildly into the forces below that attempted to get near. With these numbers, making use of controlled detonations or attempting to use some degree of precision was simply a waste of time and effort. He glanced back for a moment as he reloaded, taking note of the Medic slumped by the dispenser Dell had managed to hastily throw together, the nearby mini-sentry clicking crazily, the small gun already out of ammo.
Nils was lying against the wall, healing rays covering him, his own Medigun passing over the wounded who had been carefully placed nearby or were currently sitting up, needing just a moment before joining the fray once more. Sighing, he glanced over at Dell, who was limping over to the mini-sentry, refilling its ammo and with some effort unloading a normal sentry to watch over their flank. The Engineer had refused treatment since they'd taken this position, insisting that others needed it more and that the rays from the dispenser would be enough.
The foes just kept coming, as surely as the snow kept falling. Thankfully, as terrible as the conditions were in this abandoned mountain base, it seemed the decision to come here had some wisdom behind it. The number of foes and in particular, the quality of their equipment, had rapidly diminished as they ascended higher and in these conditions it looked like no attack helicopters would risk approach. Still, even if the threat was reduced and there were less of them at any one time, the flood of attackers did not seem to cease and everyone was having their doubts.
Glancing down at his revolver, Gabriel stepped past the Demoman and half-heartedly fired a few shots into the crowd, ignoring Ewan rolling his eye and sighing. The masked man slipped the revolver away and instead checked his pockets, daring to hope. Those conscious and not immediately occupied watched as the Spy became more frantic until he finally made a sound of success that was most likely garbled French.
With a weak smile, the Frenchman tossed his last grenade down into the melee, the orb not exploding but instead releasing noxious gas and foul chemicals into the horde, who slowly started to feel the effects. They started to stumble, some fainted, others coughed and hacked as others took on a green hue of skin and became sick.
Stumbling back behind the Demoman to join Nils and Dell in their rest, the Spy barely noticed the thumbs-up the sitting Pyro gave or the smile of the Soldier as the American got to his feet, hefting his rocket launcher and joining Ewan at hammering the waves of attackers away with explosives.
How long would this go on for? How long could the supplies last? Dell was finding himself increasingly unable to scrounge up enough metal to keep them alive and protected, whilst Nils was uncertain that the spare Medigun could keep up: both with the amount of damage and with the continuous usage. Even in the most drawn-out battles of the past it had not seen anywhere near as much constant use and its effects did seem to be becoming drastically weaker with time...
###
Void. Null. Nothingness. Eternity. Limbo.
Whatever you called it, it was empty, a vast expanse of nothing that was still infinitely preferable to the storm of sorrows he had faced before.
Isaac walked. He knew not why he walked, nor for how long, he merely walked. It could have been days, it could have been minutes, who could really tell in a place without time? It might have been death, it may have been sleep, but did it really matter? So he walked, lost in the emptiness, his mind a blank state and the whole affair was strangely soothing to his beaten mind.
It was hard to tell when it had happened, when the nothing had suddenly become something, but all the same it happened without warning and took some time for him to adjust to the concept. He blinked, not sure what he was looking at, more than a little annoyed that something had ruined his peace. Annoyed...at least until his mind returned to normalcy and put the pieces together.
Standing there was his team once more, his old team, the ones he had started this all for. It seemed as if they had come to comfort him and guide his way once more...
###
Miss Pauling carefully looked through her notes, strolling into her own office and carefully pulling her chair out before sitting down to make sense of it all. Intelligence suggested that against all odds, Hale had fallen to the rogue mercenaries and they had been able to escape with only one wounded...or possibly dead. The Administrator had managed to seize enough power within the government and the underworld respectively by this point to amass truly terrible forces of both soldiers and other mercenaries alike against the so-called "Team Fortress".
Indeed, were it anyone else, the sheer number of forces scattered around the country, staking out key locations, the trapping of old bases...it would be beyond overkill and it seemed more like desperation than the normal careful and precise plans her she was known for. Perhaps the death of Hale had struck her employer more than she'd ever let show?
Crazy theories aside...something had to be done.
Even if they were down a member and had essentially the full military might of the world at their heels, the most powerful woman in the world's assistant couldn't shake this feeling of unease. At the very least...they should probably investigate the area Hale had fought the mercenaries in (and pretty much fought the land too, from the looks of it) and maybe see if the Australian's body could be recovered. Even if he was dead, such a powerful man, not to mention one with such high exposure to Australium would no doubt prove to be of great use to some of the company's less...moral...scientists.
And on that thought, Miss Pauling placed her papers into a neatly organised pile in the appropriate place and made a phone call...
###
Silence. A chill wind sweeps through the snowy wastes outside as an ancient heating system kicks into life within the barren base, the stench of death from the valley below all too obvious even from within the musty walls.
Supplies are gathered, wounds are attended to and some measure of rest is finally obtained, the chaos frozen in time within their minds.
But it is within the slumbering mind of the one lost to the darkness that true chaos reigns, the shadows of insanity all too clear in his eyes as he slowly opens them once more...
Elsewhere, a team of a different nature carefully navigates the destruction, descending into a very different darkness, searching for what may remain of the great beast, hoping to reawaken that power once more.
And so...hidden by the white flurry of snow and the shadowy depths of the abyss respectively, twin terrors beyond mortal comprehension rest. One awakens from his endless nightmares and the other lies in wait for those who may seek to learn from his defeat at the hands of the Crimson Demon.