Peter's gasp echoes in the confine of the quadrant, followed by Killmonger's triumphant laugh. Rage colors my vision and before I know it, I have conjured up Okoye's spear from the hangar and am hurling it at the Wakandan.

In barely a second the spear slides through Killmonger's bare chest, tearing in between the raised dots signifying his kills. He collapses to the ground as the cannon signifies his death and I don't even wait to yank my spear out but spin around to see Peter.

He's just standing there, his expression shocked, and his hands are pressed around the sword sticking out of his stomach. I race over to him, grabbing his shoulders right before he falls, and I am able to slow his collapse to the metal floor. Peter's eyes are filled with pain, blood staining his fingers.

"Peter, Peter, Peter," I find myself murmuring as I drop onto my knees beside him. His eyes shift to me and it takes him a second to focus on my face. There's a bruise circling his eye and his suit looks pretty beat up. His fight with Killmonger has been a rough one.

"L-loki?" he stammers. "I don't feel so good."

"Just sit still, Peter," I tell him. I want to tell him things are going to be okay but the lie won't come. I can't lie to him, not when everything is not going to be okay. He's dying.

"I'm sorry," he says, my hands still gripping his shoulders. "Tell...Aunt Mae I'm sorry. And Mr. Stark. I let him down, I let him down." Tears leak out of the corners of Peter's eyes. "He made me this suit to win and I let him down."

I shake my head but he keeps going. "And Liz – tell Liz I'm sorry I never got to take her to the dance. She deserves better. Tell them, Loki, please. Tell them."

"Peter," I whisper, unsure of what else to say. His eyes are wild when they meet mine, his numb fingers pressing something into my palm.

"Promise!"

"I swear," I tell him, and I mean it. "I'll tell them all."

Peter relaxes, slightly, and I tighten my grip on his shoulder. "I don't want to go," he whispers. "Loki, I don't want to go." His expression is one of pain and fear but there's a resigned note there as well. He gives me a slight nod, as if in readiness for something. "I'm sorry."

The cannon explodes, the sound waves pounding at my eardrums.

I'm still sitting on the floor, holding his shoulders, as Peter's body starts to disintegrate under my fingers, the feathery dust floating to the floor. Stunned, I stare at the pile as I fall back, feeling my breathing quicken.

Peter Parker is dead. Peter Parker is dead. Peter Parker is dead.

Distantly, I hear a crashing noise in the background as my fingers tighten into fists, clenching around the object Peter pressed into my hand. I don't move, don't speak, just feel. My magic does the rest.

The pile of dust before me is...definite. Peter Parker is gone, and he's not coming back. He's dead, and death is permanent, death is forever. No one can alter that, no one can change that.

I'll never see Spiderman again. He'll never see his aunt again, or get to thank Tony Stark for the suit again. He's gone.

Gone.

Why isn't that a more frightening word? It is used in such a casual way, when someone will be seen later. But Peter is gone and I won't see him later, I'll never see him again. Or Sif, or Hogun, for that matter. They're gone, and they're not coming back. Sif will never get to flirt with my brother again and Hogun will never get to see his beloved Vanaheim once more.

Their futures were all halted violently, torn to shreds as their lives were taken. Their futures were stolen.

They're dead. Dead. How could such a horrible thing as death exist and I not know what it feels like to lose someone to it until this moment? To watch someone's future die? To see their life halted, their body made as obsolete as the remaining dust? How could I not know it would hurt like this?

And I think of all the other contenders, the ones I killed. Sif, Raze, Helen Cho, Brock Rumlow. They're all dead because of me, irrevocably gone. There are things they will never get to do again, plans they'll never be able to fulfill.

And now I understand. I have never been able to understand Odin before, but now I see why he is the way he is. He lost people to Thanos, warriors, Valkyries. And due to his defeat, thousands upon thousands of others died as well from the Fallen systems. His defeated attitude suddenly makes sense. He saw all those futures ripped away from their owners and felt the burden thud onto his shoulders.

I do not, however, understand why he wanted me to compete in the Contest. Didn't he already have enough death? Why would he want to cause more, be responsible for his own son's death joining the others upon his shoulders?

No. I will not die. I cannot. I will not let my mother feel this pain, or Gamora. I will win and keep those I love from leaving me this way.

I am so glad I volunteered for Heimdall. At least now he doesn't have to die.

Is it better to die yourself or watch someone else die?

I don't want to watch anyone I love die.

The stark reality of death is staring up at me from the pile of ashes belonging to my former ally. That is the work of death. It takes people and holds them, laughing at you as you struggle to comprehend what just happened.

I feel anger rising within me as I stand, still staring down at the dust. "Farewell, Peter Parker," I say softly. "Thank you." Slowly bowing my head, I go down onto one knee, pausing for a moment to salute him.

I can't just let Peter's ashes lie there. He can't be allowed to fade out of sight and mind, to be gone. I won't let that happen. I have memories, his family back home has memories. That will ensure Peter remains with us, to some extent, but I can do something more now. I can force the audience to have a memory.

Rising, I focus my magic on his ashes, very deliberately arranging the dust into a pattern. It takes me a while but the result, the spider symbol he wore on his chest, is worth it. The Spiderman will always be remembered, I can do that much for him.

As the spider sits on the floor for the entire galaxy to see, I stumble towards the control panel and furrow my brow on seeing a sponsor's canister sitting on the pilot's seat. But before I look at it, I unfurl my fists to see what Peter had given me.

It's a grey wrist guard, with a sensor imbedded in it. When I touch the sensor, red strings of light shoot from the sensor and land on the viewport, showing the image of circular red mask markings I had seen Peter shining on the floor last night. He had given this to me, before he died. His district token, from Tony Stark.

I tuck it into my belt before turning back to the canister. Lifting it up, I examine it, wondering what it is. My siblings and Valkyrie have already sent me something today – what is this?

I open the canister and pull out something soft and wrapped in crinkling paper. A note falls onto the seat and I pick it up curiously.

Thanks for taking care of the kid. – T.S.

Tony Stark.

I unwrap the package carefully, the words on the paper stating The Best Sandwiches In Queens! It falls away to reveal the sandwich. Peter's sandwich.

Tony must have meant this for Peter, but then Peter died. So he sent it to me, instead. I turn it over, contemplating it. This must be from that deli Peter told me about, the one he went to all the time. That just makes it hurt more.

"Thanks, Stark," I say quietly. Slowly, I eat it, sitting in the pilot's chair and staring out the viewport. It tastes better than anything I've eaten lately and I don't know why. Maybe grief makes you hungry. Or maybe it really is the best sandwich in Queens.

After brushing the crumbs off my jacket, I grab my spear from among Killmonger's ashes before double checking that everything's sealed, powering up all the systems, and pulling the lever to detach the quadrant from the rest of the ship. My mind is starting to work again, thinking through my next steps, and checking all the controls gives me something to consider, rather than Peter and death.

Now I've sworn two oaths to win. One to Gamora, and one to Peter. I will win this Contest of Champions, for I need to honor his last request and see my friend again. I know I will see Peter forevermore in my mind alongside all the others I remember, and I will not forget him.

For then he'd be really gone.

Finally I'm ready to fly away from this horrible ship. I'm vaguely aware that I should head down to the asteroid but that feels so far away. I tell myself just to direct the quadrant forward, then I can choose the downward direction. One step at a time.

The quadrant starts forward and I'm just about to begin taking it down when the darkness before me ripples and tears open, revealing the bluish black of a portal. There's no time to change direction; the quadrant falls right through it.