The early February breeze brushed through my uncovered black hair and made my eyes sting. Snow descended from the sky at a slow pace and blanketed the land. The snow mimicked the way my heart shattered and rained from the sky, slow and dreadful. The surrounding area became eerily quiet since everyone had left, which was unfortunate. The world had to bear with me as I finally snapped.

I collapsed onto Kitty and let her catch me. My emotions busted through the wall I held up for so long, oozing out of my aching heart. Tears flowed out of my eyes and soaked into her shirt. I shut my eyes tightly and just let out a scream into Kit's shoulder. It wasn't a scream of fear or anger. Just pain. What I was feeling...it was the worst pain imaginable. Loss. Grief.

Defeat.

Imaginary knives stabbed me in the chest over and over, making me cry out in agony even more. They were gone. Nothing was going to bring them back.

Kit and I fell to our knees. I squeezed her in my embrace and tried not to tug on her hair. "I'm so sorry, Kit. I'm so sorry..." I bawled. Repeating those words weren't going to do anything, but just saying it out loud felt right.

"It's not your fault, Lilly. The situation was out of our hands..." She sniffled at first, but then began to let the floodgates open. Her tears stained my shirt and her fingers sunk into my back, holding me closer than ever. Her sobs grew louder and louder, almost coming close to the volume of mine.

We stood over the graves of our friends, weeping for our loss.

One Week Earlier...

The gold and caramel colors bounced around the room and soaked in the light pouring in through the giant frosted windows. Blood stained the perfectly threaded carpet underneath the President's beheaded corpse. The crimson blood that splattered onto the wall yesterday dried up before it could finish running down the wallpaper. An iron aroma drifted in the cold air rushing in from outside. The Hulk and Juggernaut practically ruined half of the White House, so a lot of the area was exposed to the freezing temperatures outside.

Loki of Jotunheim settled in the President's comfy chair, legs wide open for the perfect relaxing position. His gold, black, and green armor rested against him and reminded him of the events in the past few days. Beads of sweat jumped off of his pale skin as his eyebrow twitched a few times. His stringy black hair slicked back and curled up at the ends near the back of his neck. He ran his tongue along his teeth once and his lips formed a scowl. Loki's jaw rested on his chin as he stared off in thought. He wasn't Loki of Asgard anymore. Asgard was a long dead, desolate place. That sad decrepit city outgrew his needs. Jotunheim was strong enough to carry Loki's name and had a reliable source of soldiers who could actually perform the job correctly.

Win win.

Loki's blue eyes wandered around the room and fixated on one object. The American flag lay on the floor, ripped in places and ridden in blood. That must have been the heart of this country. War kept it thriving and prosperous while innocent blood shed. Fighting for the right thing or one's beliefs always threw Loki for a loop. If it's not to conquer and take control, what is the point for shedding blood? Where are the victory spoils and celebrations to commemorate another country falling in the hands of your own? Loki believed he could build upon this wrongful country and spread his reign to cover the entire world.

Soon.

Very soon.

The Avengers must perish first.

His blood boiled at the thought of that wretched team. They weren't soldiers. They were cowards. Fearful people who couldn't save their own country. How dare the citizens call them heroes. It disgraced the term and its meaning. The Avengers ran from the fight. Where is their courage? Their fearlessness? Their need to avenge the fallen?

The Avengers had the audacity to flee.

Loki didn't receive the satisfaction of victory. The disgraced heroes didn't die. They didn't kneel down to their newfound king.

But they will.

Ira became bored with the silence and tried to find something to entertain herself. She kicked President Obama's body and set his head on the Oval Office desk. She fixed her short black hair and looked at the head with her gray eyes. The light shined against her purple skin and grazed against the golden markings on her face. She shook slightly when a chill surged up her spine. Ira gently picked up some freshly sharpened pencils from the pencil holder and aimed them at the head.

One in the eye.

One over the head. Damn. Miss.

One in the open mouth. Score!

A pencil reflected off of the corpse's head and hit Loki in the arm. He glared at her with narrow eyes. "I have no time for your petty barbaric activities, Ira," he scowled menacingly. When her eyes widened, he turned away and continued his train of thought.

Ira threw the pencils onto the floor and bit her lip. Something was wrong with him. She could clearly see it. Was it worth it to question him? He hated being questioned. But...it might be best to try. She cleared her throat and managed to ask, "Are you all right?" When greeted with silence, she headed towards the door. "I am going to leave you in peace."

Loki spoke up, his tone a little sincere, "No. Stay."

Ira knit her eyebrows together in confusion. Did he hit his head too hard on the way inside? Why was he acting so strange? It was easier to read the mind of a Hiolaptra, and that creature contained many more dangerous factors than Loki did! Did he, as the humans say, wake up on the wrong side of the bed? "Why do you appear so troubled? We won! Don't you feel victorious?" Ira questioned her love. She walked back towards the desk slowly, making sure not to seem too eager for answers.

Loki leaned forward, put his hands together in a pyramid formation and almost rested them against his lips. He emphasized a few choice words in a frustrated voice, "I will feel victorious when the Avengers are dead on the front lawn. They aren't dead. They retreated. The cowards..."

Ira smiled and began speaking, "When they retaliate..."

Loki slammed a newly formed fist on the table and interrupted her, "They will lose. That's the moment in which we can celebrate our victory."

"You are looking better already." Ira admired him in his confident glory. Anger fueled him and that only made her more excited. The power, the confidence, the determination in his eyes, this all was a side of him she hadn't seen before her time on Earth. The Loki she knew on Asgard was softer, rational, and less outspoken. This Loki...well, to put it simply, he seemed much more alluring.

Loki didn't pay attention and continued rambling his thoughts out loud, "The Avengers are the only ones who have been able to outmatch me. Every other hero has either failed or not even tried. Why is that? I'm powerful. Intimidating. People fear me. Taking control almost seems too easy."

"Total control isn't just the only thing we want," Ira commented softly and set her hand gently on his. They wanted to be together and start a life. That's what he used to tell her before she had to go away to her home planet. Surely he still meant it. He had to.

"Of course it is! It has been since..." Loki trailed off, contemplating when his hunger for power began. Did it begin before Odin banished Thor to Midgard? After? He couldn't remember anymore. Something pushed him in the right direction. Maybe it was because he was in Thor's shadow for so long. Maybe he felt a need to rule. Or maybe it was because having the scepter in his hand gave him the confidence and strength to do anything he ever desired. His eyes narrowed as his gaze fixated on nothing in particular. Was his memory really fleeting him right now? His mind felt fuzzy and almost numb, yet he still functioned correctly. Odd.

Ira attempted to distract him by changing the conversation. She had to drop another hint about them being together. He couldn't just want the power. She wouldn't accept that thought. "Where do you see yourself in the future? What's to come about this, my love?"

Loki's lips curled up into a deviant smile. He knew that answer like the back of his hand. He stood up and answered without missing a beat, "All heroes, dead on the streets of New York after their depressing attempt to take me out. The citizens will cower in fear as I claim the position as King of this world. Only those who are worthy will reign over the rest of the humans, making them work for their new kingdom. Fire, ruin, prosperous high end lands, this will be the start of a new era. I will plan out something new in order to become the ruler of the galaxy, even if I have to cut down humans, aliens, or gods. Nothing shall stand in the way of my birthright."

Ira couldn't help but to ponder his answer. She wasn't mentioned at all, and that in itself made her nervous. Was she really that dispensable? Did he not really care about her? She fought herself over whether or not she should ask him about it, but she decided against it. If his answer wasn't to her liking, she could never unhear it. Leave it to the unknown. That is the best answer. Ira smiled weakly and attempted to be supportive of his plan, "That's the best dream anyone could have."