XCIX. Emris

The moment the first creature breaches the barrier, the world explodes.

Gunfire erupts in unrelenting bursts, each round shattering the brief, fragile silence we'd clung to. Bucky's rifle roars beside me, sharp and steady. I track every bullet he fires. The click of the trigger. The mechanical kick of the recoil. The faint curl of smoke rising from the muzzle. It's the only rhythm that makes sense in the chaos.

The swarm comes in waves, more grotesque than anything I've seen. Not quite beast. Not quite machine. Limbs that bend wrong. Jaws that split sideways. They shriek like dying things that don't know they're already dead. The air stinks—burnt hair, rotting flesh, scorched earth—and it coats my tongue with the taste of copper and ash.

Sam takes off, wings slicing the sky as he launches a missile into a tight-packed cluster. The blast ripples through the field, heat rushing over us like a slap. The creatures scream. Some fall. Most don't.

"They keep coming!" someone yells—it might be Steve. Might be Nat.

Bucky's hand brushes mine again before he charges forward, and I teleport in bursts to flank him—three quick jumps across the ruined terrain, shadows peeling off my skin each time I land. My legs burn. My ribs ache from the pressure of rapid displacement. But I can't stop.

A creature lunges for Bucky's side—he spins, slams the butt of his rifle into its skull, fires point-blank into its chest. Blue blood splatters across his cheek. He doesn't blink.

I tear another off Sam's back before it can sink its claws into his wings, driving my blade up under its jaw, twisting. I feel the grind of cartilage. Hot blood sprays my chest. I don't care.

"We're not winning," I whisper to no one. To myself.

I teleport again. A high rock. Better vantage. My pulse roars in my ears. I see Steve in the center, shield ricocheting off skulls. T'Challa—fast and brutal, claws slicing through bone. Natasha flips over one of the beasts, lands, fires, reloads.

And still... they keep coming.

Rhodey's voice crackles through comms. "Bombs incoming, clear the field."

A second later, the world shakes. Fire rains down in columns. Dust fills my lungs. I duck behind debris, coughing, heart hammering. The ground groans beneath the impact, shrapnel pinging off my armor. I press my back to stone, blinking through the smoke.

I peek around just in time to watch three more of the things crawl over the corpses of the fallen—burned but moving. Skin peeled back. Eyes bulging. Still moving.

Bucky's gun jams. I see it happen in slow motion—he's mid-shot, then frowns, yanks the bolt back. His vibranium hand flicks fast, smooth, trained—but one of the creatures is already lunging.

"Bucky!" I scream, teleport without thinking.

We hit the ground hard—me slamming into him, rolling together as the thing's claws rake through empty air. He grunts as I land on top of him, and for a split second there's just his eyes—wide, burning, grateful.

"Thanks," he pants.

"Don't mention it," I rasp, teleporting off him before the next wave crushes us.

Sam flies overhead, a streak of red and chrome. "We're being overrun!" he shouts into the comms. "They're everywhere!"

We regroup near the trenches—just a few meters back from the barrier. Bucky reloads with smooth, practiced hands, his jaw set. His hair's plastered to his face, slick with sweat and blood. Mine too. My hands are trembling. My mind feels like it's fraying at the edges, threads snapping one by one.

I grit my teeth and force another teleport—just to stay ahead of the onslaught. My body is screaming. I feel the burn in my chest, the way each jump takes more out of me. I'm running out of energy, and the battle hasn't even truly begun.

They just don't stop.

Every time we clear a path, more pour through. Through the cracks in the barrier. Over the smoking remains of their dead. Mindless. Relentless. A virus with claws.

I skid beside Bucky again, blast one through the neck, and scream over the noise, "There's too many!"

He doesn't answer. He just meets my eyes—really meets them. And I see it. The thing he can't say.

If this is it—if this is the end—

He's glad it's beside me.

I nod. That's all I can do. My throat's too tight for words.

And then—

Another roar. Another rush.

We brace.

They keep coming.

Something shifts.

A vibration, not from the ground this time, but from the people around me. A shared pulse of dread as we all see it happening—the enemy is circling. Flanking us.

I see it from the corner of my eye: the creatures, moving like a sick tide, curling around the edge of the shield, trying to get to the trees behind us, to what we're protecting. To him. To Vision.

T'Challa steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the battlefield like a god among mortals. His jaw locks. He knows. We all do.

"They're trying to flank us," someone mutters—maybe Sam, maybe Rhodey. Doesn't matter.

T'Challa doesn't hesitate. Doesn't second-guess. He lifts his arm and clenches a fist.

"Drop the barrier on this side!" His voice is thunder, commanding, unwavering.

My breath catches.

That barrier was the only thing keeping us from being swallowed whole. But if they circle it—Vision is done. The war is lost.

The shield shimmers, flickers—and vanishes in a pulse of purple light.

For a split second, it's silent. No gunfire. No shouting. Just the hum of the shield dying and the distant screech of creatures scrambling toward the breach.

Then T'Challa raises both arms, his voice ripping through the tension like lightning.

"WAKANDA FOREVER!"

The response is instant. A roar rises from the Dora Milaje, from the Jabari, from the Wakandan soldiers, and from us. Fear shifts. Becomes fury. The earth trembles as we surge forward like a wave. Like hellfire.

I barely register myself running until I'm already moving.

"Sam!" I shout over the noise, already sprinting, already knowing.

He doesn't hesitate. His wings flare open with a mechanical snap and he blasts into the sky like a rocket, dust spiraling off the ground in his wake.

I reach for him—he grabs my wrist without looking and yanks me upward.

Wind whips around us, hot and sharp, carrying the scent of smoke and sweat and ozone. My feet dangle uselessly below, heart hammering so fast it blurs my vision.

From above, I see the chaos: black creatures snarling and tearing across red dirt, sharp limbs slicing through vibranium spears. The battlefield is alive—bleeding, screaming. Like something ancient waking up.

Sam banks hard left, then right, dodging fire blasts and a leaping creature that almost clips his wing.

"I'm gonna drop you!" he shouts.

I tighten my grip. "Do it!"

He hurls me through the air.

The rush of freefall hits me like a drug. I twist midair, reach deep into the instinct carved into my bones, and teleport—a sharp, short-range blink—and reappear five feet above the ground, just behind the frontline.

I hit the dirt in a crouch, pain shooting up my legs, but I don't stop. I draw both blades and sprint forward.

Snarling mouths meet me—jaws unhinging with impossible angles, eyes like pits of oil. I stab the first one through the throat. Spin. Slash another one across the chest. They don't stop.

I hear Bucky's gunfire behind me, clean and controlled. Sam swooping overhead. Okoye's war cry. A boom as Rhodey drops something heavy, fiery, explosive.

It doesn't matter. They keep coming.

And now the shield is down.

Now there's no turning back.

Blood stains my teeth. Not mine—theirs. One of the things lunges, jaw unhinging too wide, and I spin under its snapping fangs, plunging my blade into the underside of its throat. It gurgles, blue blood pouring down my arm like oil, hot and foul. I rip the blade free with a snarl, kick the thing off, and teleport mid-spin onto higher ground—top of a rusted truck near the center of the field.

The creatures keep coming.

God, they keep coming.

Snarling, slithering, galloping on all fours. Some drag their torsos like broken dogs, others leap like predators, eyes glowing, mouths full of too many teeth. They stink like rot and ammonia, like acid had been poured over carcasses and left to stew in the sun. The sound of their bodies squelching as they hit the ground—disgusting. But I can't focus on that. I'm running out of clean surfaces to land on. The dirt's soaked with ichor and smoke.

Gunfire cracks beside me.

Bucky.

He's a few to the side of me, rifle held tight to his shoulder. Each shot echoes like thunder. I track them like heartbeats. One. Two. Three. He's reloading. I teleport next to him just as he blows a hole straight through one creature's chest.

Our eyes meet.

It's a second. Less.

But he inhales like I'm oxygen.

I grin, spin, and carve through a charging beast beside him, my blade slicing into its neck with a hiss of heat and blood. Bucky's back against mine. It's like dancing, the way we move—fluid, practiced, brutal. His cold hand brushes mine for just a breath and I don't flinch.

I savor it.

But the moment shatters fast. A beast leaps at him from the side, and I teleport to stop it, blade swinging. Miss. Another jumps between us. My blade finds its spine, and I twist hard, but it takes me down with it.

When I scramble up—he's gone.

"Bucky!"

No answer. Just screams, gunfire, explosions. I teleport, again and again, ripping through beasts as I go, blade flashing silver through the red haze. I'm running on instinct, on fury. My body knows what to do. My mind is—

Cracking.

There are too many. Rhodey's bombing the northern line and they still keep coming.

I teleport to a broken wall. Blood in my mouth. Ears ringing. Vision shaking.

We are not winning.

Then—there. Through the smoke. Bucky's on the ground, pinned by three of them. He's fighting, one hand gripping a throat, the other swinging his knife, but the third—

"No—!"

I teleport.

My blade hits first, tearing into the nearest creature's back. It screams. I don't stop. I teleport again before the second one can turn, then again, my blade slicing through air and flesh, gore splattering my face. I grab the third by the jaw and rip its head back with a sickening crunch.

Bucky gasps under the weight of the corpses.

I reach for him, pull him up, his bloodied hand gripping mine like it's the only real thing left.

"You good?" I pant, adrenaline flooding my throat.

"Better now," he mutters, voice hoarse.

But then—

A crack of thunder. A blinding beam of light splits the sky open.

The battlefield stops for a moment.

Creatures disintegrate in its wake, turned to ash and shadow.

Lightning hits the ground with a deafening boom—and from it steps a god.

Tall. Glowing. New armor. New haircut.

Thor.

Beside him, a small raccoon with a giant gun. And a walking tree. Because of course.

Bucky and I stare.

Thor lifts his axe—and then the carnage begins anew. Thunder explodes from the sky. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of creatures are blasted into smoke. The air sizzles. The pressure changes.

Steve jogs up, panting.

Thor, beaming: "You copied my beard."

Steve, catching his breath: "You copied my hair."

Thor claps him on the shoulder. "This is my friend, Tree." Thor says as he points to the tree thing.

"I am Groot," the tree creature says proudly.

Steve doesn't miss a beat. "I am Steve Rogers."

Thor turns to me, grinning. "Ah, the Serpent Girl."

"Emris," I correct, eyebrow raised.

"Serpent Girl," he repeats anyway, still smiling.

I gesture at the swarm gathering behind him. "Great. Now will you two stop flirting and maybe kill the aliens?"

I teleport out before he can reply, landing hard on top of a pile of corpses, blade raised. Behind me, I hear Thor chuckle and say, "I like her."

I'm gone before I can smile.

The ground trembles beneath my boots. A low, unnatural rumble that builds fast—like thunder cracking open from beneath instead of above. My knees buckle slightly, the vibrations traveling up my spine, rattling something deep inside my ribs. Something bad is coming. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.

Then the ground explodes.

Massive, bladed wheels erupt from underground—metal monstrosities snarling like mechanical beasts. Threshers. They tear up the battlefield with the screech of screaming steel, hurtling forward like demons unleashed, spitting dirt and death in every direction. They chew through creatures like they're made of paper, sending limbs and black sludge flying.

T'Challa's voice barks through the comms. "Fall back!"

My heart lurches. I spin around, eyes scanning frantically. "Bucky!" I shout into the mic, pushing past soldiers and slashing down a lunging creature.

The battlefield is a storm of motion. Sam dives overhead, dodging a thresher by inches. T'Challa flips through the air, slicing clean through an attacker. Steve is yelling something—but I don't hear him. I can't. All I hear is the shriek of steel and the rush of my blood pounding against my eardrums.

I spot Nat to my right, Okoye beside her. We're too close. Too exposed. Too fucking slow.

A shadow grows on the dirt.

I glance over my shoulder—and my breath lodges in my throat.

The thresher is barreling toward us, blades glinting like the jaws of hell.

There's no time to run.

Everything slows.

My muscles lock. My mind blanks.

A blur of dark motion slams into me from the side. Strong arms wrap around my waist—one warm, one cold—and we tumble hard onto the ground. His scent hits me before my brain catches up.

Bucky.

He holds me tight against his chest, shielding me with his body. I don't even feel the impact of the ground—just him. Him and the roar of the thresher bearing down. His breath is hot against my temple. His grip so tight it almost hurts.

"I've got you," he growls. "I've got you."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

So this is it.

Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. Not if it's with them. Not if it's with him.

The sound is deafening. The shriek of metal, the rumble of the earth, the roar of my own pulse. I brace for pain—for the end.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, there's a flash of red.

Then silence.

When I open my eyes, everything is still. Hovering. The thresher—suspended midair, its blades spinning uselessly, its fury frozen in place. Red light pulses around it like a force field.

Wanda.

She floats above the ground, eyes glowing like embers, hands spread wide. Her power flares, brilliant and terrifying, twisting through the air like fire made flesh.

Bucky's arms loosen just enough for me to breathe. I sit up slightly, still curled against him.

Okoye is staring at Wanda, blade slack in her grip. "Why was she up there all this time?" she demands.

Natasha smirks, brushing hair from her face. "She likes to make an entrance."

Bucky touches my chin gently, tipping my face up toward his. His eyes are all over me, checking every inch like he's not sure I'm real. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I breathe.

His mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile. I lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips—warm, soft, grounding. His fingers twitch against my side, wanting more.

But we don't have time.

I touch my fingers to his chest, give him a look that says later, and vanish in a blink of violet smoke—straight back into the fray.

The battlefield is a blur of blood, smoke, and static. My ears ring. My arms ache. My legs are jelly beneath me, barely holding as I strike down another snarling beast that lunges for my throat.

"We got a Vision situation!" Sam's voice cracks through the comms like a whip. "He's not gonna make it on his own!"

"Somebody get to Vision," Steve barks.

"I'm on my way," Bruce calls, breathless.

"I'm going too," Wanda's voice adds.

Somewhere to my left, I hear Wanda gasp—a choked sound, followed by a sickening thud.

My head jerks toward her just in time to see one of Thanos's twisted generals—a woman cloaked in crimson and black—slam Wanda with a sword of some kind. It sends her flying, her body tumbling hard into the ravine.

"Wanda!" I yell.

"Fuck," Natasha hisses beside me, sprinting forward.

Okoye is already on the move, spear angled down like a missile.

The woman descends, elegant and deadly, prowling toward Wanda with a cruel smirk on her face. "He'll die alone," she says coldly. Her voice is sharp as a blade. "As will you."

"She's not alone," Nat growls, stepping into view.

"Never was," I add, sliding into position, blood in my teeth.

The woman turns, irritated now—too many targets.

Behind her, Okoye lands, spear crashing into the ground.

The three of us—spy, assassin, and warrior—stand in a triangle around her.

We move at once.

Natasha is fluid, fast, striking first with her batons crackling. Okoye follows with ruthless precision, her spear cutting through the air like thunder. I dart behind the woman, throwing a blade that slams into her back. She stumbles forward—right into Nat's punch.

For a moment, we've got her.

She's outnumbered, overwhelmed.

But she's clever.

As the fight twists and turns, a massive Thresher wheel barrels toward us overhead—metal shrieking like it's alive.

"Down!" Okoye shouts.

We all duck instinctively.

That single second is enough.

The woman lunges from the dust, grabbing Natasha by the throat and hurling her into a pile of burning debris. Okoye tries to intercept, but the woman twists, slams her elbow into Okoye's jaw, and sends her skidding across the mud.

I jump at her, teeth clenched, hands holding my blades.

She grabs me mid-leap.

"Got you," she hisses.

Then throws me. Hard.

My body slams into the ground. My head hits a rock—white-hot pain bursts behind my eyes. A headache flares, violent and instant, like a spike through my skull.

No. Not now.

I taste blood.

My vision flickers—blurring, splitting, doubling. The battlefield sways like a sinking ship. I hear the roar of battle and distant screams, but it's all muffled.

I try to stand.

Fall to one knee.

"C'mon," I whisper. "Not now. Please—"

Through the blur, I see her.

The woman—she's back on Natasha, sword raised. Nat rolls but she's slowing down, her arm cut and bleeding.

"Nat!" I croak.

Okoye is still struggling to rise.

All I feel is that throbbing behind my eyes, rhythmic, wrong.

The sword comes down.

Wanda rises.

Her eyes blaze red.

The woman doesn't even see her until it's too late.

With a single, staggering burst of power, Wanda flings the woman backward—straight into the spinning teeth of the Thresher.

The metal shreds her scream.

Silence falls.

Then I laugh. It's shaky, disbelieving, exhausted. "About time."

Natasha limps to her feet beside me, smirking even though she's bleeding from the shoulder.

Okoye joins us, battered but standing proud.

The ringing in my head is unbearable.

Everything's warbled. Distant. Like I'm underwater. My ears are full of static, my thoughts pounding to a stuttering rhythm that doesn't match the chaos around me. The battlefield sounds muffled, like my brain can't process it fast enough. Screams, metal, explosions... all of it crashes together in a nauseating swell.

I blink hard. Twice. The red dust kicks up around me in the ditch, thick and choking. I push myself upright on shaking arms, dragging in a breath that feels too thin.

"I'm fine," I whisper to myself.

I'm not.

My vision doubles and spins as I try to climb out. My foot slips in the loose dirt, and I nearly tumble backward—but a heavy thud makes me freeze.

One of them lands just a few feet away. A twisted creature, hunched and snarling, its eyes like burning coals. Fangs glisten in its drooling maw as it steps toward me with a mocking grin.

One of Thanos's minions.

"Humans," it snarls, voice gurgling like it's chewing on bone. "So weak."

I flinch, no weapon in my hand, my body reeling too much to summon anything with my mind. Shit. I brace for impact—

A loud crack as something hits the creature hard from behind. It stumbles, spinning just in time to catch a vibranium fist to the face.

Bucky.

He stands over the crumpled beast, gun still smoking in one hand, metal arm raised in the other. His jaw is clenched tight, chest heaving.

The thing roars and lunges—but then crack crack crack!

Sam swoops overhead, wings flaring wide as he unleashes a barrage of fire from his guns, pinning the alien back. "I got this ugly bastard—check on her!"

Bucky doesn't hesitate.

He drops to his knees beside me, hands reaching before I can even say anything. "I'm fine," I say automatically, trying to sit straighter.

His eyes sweep over me, too intense, too knowing. I hate the way my voice wavers. "Just a little dizzy, but I'm—"

"No, you're not." He cuts me off gently, one hand on my shoulder as he reaches into his pocket. "Here."

I frown as he pulls out a small, smooth pill. "What is that?"

"I had Shuri make it for you," he says, slipping it into my hand. "It's for your headaches."

My throat tightens. I don't ask how he knew this would happen.

I just dry swallow it without another word. It tastes bitter, metallic on my tongue. For a second, nothing changes.

Then—

The static recedes. The pain dulls. Like a curtain lifting from inside my skull. My breathing steadies as the spinning stops.

"Better?" he asks, voice soft.

I nod, relief breaking through like sunlight after a storm. "Yeah. Thank you."

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. It's warm. Solid. Real.

And then he reaches for his dog tags.

"Don't." My voice is barely a whisper as he unclasps the chain and places it around my neck. "Don't do that."

"It's just a promise, Em." His fingers graze my collarbone as he fastens it. "I'll always come back to you."

My heart stutters. His words are too much and not enough all at once. I grab his face and kiss him, hard. Like it's the last one. It might be.

"Always," I murmur against his lips.

Behind us, the alien creature shrieks again, and Sam slams it to the ground. Bucky turns, raising his gun just as Sam slams a blade through its chest—blue ooze sprays.

I stand, steady now, the pill fully kicking in. Bucky catches my wrist and gives it a light squeeze. His eyes say more than words ever could.

We run—side by side—toward the next wave.

Toward the next fight.

Toward whatever's left.

Then.

Something shifts.

Not in the wind. Not in the ground. In me.

Like the earth holds its breath all at once. Like the sky itself tightens its chest. I stumble mid-step and whip around toward the trees—and I feel it. That cold, gnawing silence. That pull. The crackling void that presses down like gravity itself has doubled.

He's here.

Thanos.

I don't need to see him to know it. The universe tilts. My body knows before my brain does. My stomach turns over. My skin crawls.

"Everyone," Steve's voice snaps through the comms, sharp, clipped. "On my position. We have incoming."

I shoot a look to Sam. He's already airborne, wings flaring as he jets toward the captain's signal, vanishing into the smoke and fire overhead. Natasha and Bucky are still with me. The three of us start sprinting across the ruined terrain, dodging smoldering wreckage, bodies, craters—what's left of Wakanda's front lines. The screams behind us start to fade, replaced by a silence even worse.

He emerges from the haze like a walking nightmare.

Thanos.

Massive. Unbothered. Step by heavy step, the Mad Titan cuts a path through destruction like it's his throne. Smoke coils behind him. His gauntlet glows with five stones now. Only one left.

Vision.

No.

Bucky doesn't wait. He shoulders his rifle, takes aim, and fires.

The bullets never touch him.

Thanos lifts the Power Stone, and the shots ripple in midair like they hit an invisible wall. Then he flicks his wrist. Bucky is launched—like a ragdoll, crashing through a half-broken tree He disappears from view, and my heart lurches with him.

"James!" I scream, but Okoye's already gone in next, her spear aimed at his throat.

It doesn't land.

Thanos raises the gauntlet and with a flex, the spear freezes midair—then reverses course. She's thrown like a toy, skidding across the dirt.

Natasha dives next, twin batons out.

But it's no use.

Thanos slams the Reality Stone into the ground. The dirt and wood beneath her erupts, swallowing her whole under splintered logs and debris.

"NO!"

I don't think—I just run. My powers surge. I'm not afraid. I reach out, focusing every ounce of my mind—

He doesn't even look at me.

One flick of the Space Stone and I'm yanked backwards midair like a puppet, my whole body crashing into steel and dirt and—

—Bucky.

I land on him. My shoulder cracks against his chest. His body is limp, half-conscious. We collapse together, tangled in pain, unable to rise.

I try to move. Try to stand.

But I can't.

The Space Stone has me pinned. Invisible hands wrap around my limbs like chains. I can't scream. I can't breathe. I can't—

My ears ring.

High-pitched. Buzzing. Distant explosions. My vision swims, and the world narrows to him.

Thanos stands over Wanda and Vision.

No, no, no—not them too.

Wanda is crying. I can barely hear, but her lips tremble as she whispers something to Vision. Her hands glow red—brighter than ever before, wild and flickering with pure chaos.

She's going to do it.

Even through the haze, I see the moment her heart breaks. The red magic sears outward like wildfire.

And Vision—

He shatters.

She destroys the Mind Stone, and Vision dies. Just like that. He's gone. His color fades. The golden light inside him is snuffed out, and Wanda crumples with him, sobbing.

I try to crawl, move, do something, anything. I can't.

Then... Thanos steps closer.

He speaks to her—quiet, almost gentle. I can't hear it over the ringing in my ears. Wanda is shaking, broken. She's lost everything.

And he...

He twists time.

No.

NO.

The green glow of the Time Stone pulses. Everything reverses. Vision reforms. The Mind Stone reappears in his head.

He's alive again—for seconds.

Thanos grabs Wanda and tosses her like she's weightless. She slams into the rubble.

Then he reaches down, and—

I feel it before it happens. The stone rips from Vision's skull with a horrible crack, a burst of golden light and static. His body turns grey. His eyes glaze over. He's gone.

Really gone.

Thanos holds the stone up like it's a trophy.

Then he adds it to the gauntlet.

All six.

It's done.

Vision's body hits the dirt like discarded scrap. Useless. Hollow.

I can't stop shaking. I can't move. I can't breathe.

Bucky groans behind me, barely stirring. My fingers twitch toward him.

But it's too late.

Thanos stands tall, gauntlet raised, and the sky begins to fracture.

There's a burst of light to my right—a crackle of electricity, a shift in the air—and then Thor slams down from the sky like a meteor.

Stormbreaker slices through the chaos, glowing like vengeance itself, spinning in a wide arc before it strikes Thanos dead in the chest. The force sends him staggering back, his gauntlet-wielding arm twitching with power. I can feel the heat of it from where I stand, the hairs on my arms lifting with static. Thor lands hard, eyes wild, blood on his face and murder in his voice.

"You should have gone for the head," Thanos growls, as Thor drives the axe deeper.

A beat of silence. One breath.

And then—

Snap.

A sound I'll never forget. Not loud, not dramatic—just the simple click of fingers meeting thumb. But it splits the air like thunder. A portal opens behind Thanos and in an instant, he vanishes.

He's just... gone.

My body unstiffens with a jolt. Like gravity snaps back into place, like my blood remembers how to flow. I stumble forward a step, sucking in a breath like I've been underwater. I hear Bucky moving behind me and then he's at my side.

We start toward Steve, both of us slow, cautious, unsure of what just happened—

"Emris."

Something in Bucky's voice makes me stop cold.

I turn.

And the world ends.

"No."

His skin is flaking—just slightly, like ash after a fire. His arm begins to fuzz and fade, as if the edges of him are being erased. His expression shifts from confusion to terror, and then to something worse.

Acceptance.

"No," I say again, voice trembling. "No, no, no—"

He looks at me like I'm the last thing he ever wants to see. "I love you," he whispers.

"Bucky," I breathe, reaching for him.

But I'm too late.

His vibranium arm crumbles in my grasp. I feel it disintegrate in my fingers—hard, cold, familiar—and then it's dust. His chest goes next, then his face, that scruff-covered jaw I used to mock, the mouth I kissed just hours ago, his eyes—gone.

Gone.

And then—

Silence.

No sound. No wind. No battlefield.

Just the hollow ringing in my ears. My own heartbeat pounding so hard it feels like it's going to rupture something inside me. And then nothing.

I collapse.

My knees hit the earth with a dull, wet thud. It doesn't register.

There's a hole inside me now—jagged and black and bottomless. He's gone. He's gone. Like he never existed.

I clutch at the air where he stood, dirt and ash smeared on my palms. My chest convulses. I can't get enough air. I can't make my lungs work. I can't—

"NO!" I scream.

It rips out of me raw and feral, louder than I've ever screamed before. My voice breaks halfway through, shredding into sobs. My fingers dig into the ground like I could claw time back, like if I just try hard enough, I can pull him out of the void.

But there's nothing.

There's just the place where he was.

My mind spirals. I can't think. Can't breathe. Can't remember anything but the look in his eyes when he said it—

I love you.

I didn't say it back.

God. God, he's gone.

And I didn't even say it back.

"Come back," I whisper, over and over. "Come back, come back, come back—"

But the wind carries nothing but ash and silence.

I don't hear the birds anymore.

I don't hear anything.

Just the hollow ring in my ears and the crack of my own broken heart, looping like a death knell.

The wind stirs the ashes where he stood.

Bucky.

It doesn't feel real. It can't be. One second he was here—his voice in my ear, his touch still warm on my arm—and the next he was... gone.

Gone.

"No," I whisper, kneeling again, my hands trembling as they press to the ground. My fingers curl into the dirt like they can dig him out, like they can reverse it. But all I feel is the gritty texture of what's left. Fine, weightless dust clings to my fingertips—his dust. The thing I would've fought the whole world for. The man I—

I love you, he'd said.

I clutch my chest with my free hand. I can't breathe. My ribs have collapsed inward. My lungs forgot how to function. The sky is still orange and gray and dead. The battlefield is silent. My scream still echoes in my bones.

I stay there, hunched over where he vanished, my body wracked with sobs that don't even sound like me. They tear out of my throat like they're trying to kill me from the inside. Maybe they will.

A hand settles on my shoulder.

Steve.

He doesn't say anything, just stands there, the weight of everything pressing through his palm. I can feel it—his sorrow, his guilt, the disbelief threatening to unravel him too. But I can't meet his eyes. I don't want comfort. I want Bucky.

His hand withdraws.

I keep my palm over the ash. If I move, it'll scatter. If I move, it'll be real.

A second later, I hear running footsteps over scorched earth, and then Natasha's kneeling beside me, her breath ragged.

"Emris," she says softly. "Come on, we have to—"

"No."

My voice is hoarse, hollow. I don't even look at her. I just press harder on the ground, holding it in place, like I can keep him tethered to me. "No, I can't leave him."

She pauses. I hear her swallow.

"He's already gone."

"I know," I whisper. "So am I."

Natasha reaches for me. I jerk back at first—but she's gentle, steady. Her fingers wrap around mine with a kind of warmth that reminds me what human touch feels like. Her grip isn't forceful, just constant. Present.

And eventually, I let her pull me to my feet. My legs feel like they're full of wet cement. I wobble, like I've forgotten how to stand on my own, and maybe I have. A part of me wants to fall back down. Curl up. Never move again.

But I stay upright, barely. Her arm loops under mine, grounding me. I'm still staring at the dust. Still seeing his face. Still hearing his last words.

"I love you."

I never got to say it back.

Steve moves ahead of us, toward Vision's still body. He doesn't speak. Doesn't look at us. He just walks with that soldier's gait, stiff with too much loss, and kneels beside Vision. Slowly, he turns the synthetic body over.

His eyes are lifeless.

The Mind Stone—gone.

Rhodey stumbles closer from the trees, armor hissing as he lands beside Steve.

"What is this?" Rhodey demands, looking from the crater where the portal closed, to Vision's body, to the others gathering in stunned silence. "What the hell is happening?"

No one answers. Not right away.

The wind picks up again, stirring the dust behind me. I glance back. There's nothing left of Bucky. Not even the echo of his boots in the dirt. Just an emptiness where he should be standing, making some sarcastic comment about the end of the world.

Steve swallows hard. His voice is raw when he finally speaks.

"Oh, God."

It's not a prayer.

It's a realization.

A truth too vast and cruel to comprehend.

I want to scream again, but the sound is gone. My grief is a dull, endless ache now, spreading like frostbite through my chest. I let Natasha guide me, my feet dragging as we walk toward the others. Toward nothing.

My hand is still coated in his dust. I don't wipe it away. I never will.

A piece of me is dead.

No, not dead—taken.

And I know... it's only the beginning.

Of what, I don't know.

But something has shattered.

And I don't know how to survive it.

Not without him.