.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐥𝐢. every single thing to come has turned into ashes

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅, the remnants of chaos lingering in the air. The dust hadn't yet settled from the battle, and the silence that followed Thanos' departure felt more suffocating than the fight itself. The air was thick with the weight of what had just transpired, the reality of their defeat slowly sinking in.

Peter's heart was pounding in his chest as he stumbled forward. "Mr. Stark!" he cried out, the desperation in his voice echoing through the empty wasteland. His hands were trembling as he scrambled to Tony's side, nearly tripping over the uneven ground.

Ingrid was only a step behind him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she dropped to her knees in front of Tony. Her hands hovered uncertainly over him, as if afraid that touching him might make things worse. "Tony, are you okay?" Her voice was strained, the usual confidence she carried with her nowhere to be found.

Tony's gaze lifted to meet theirs, and for a fleeting moment, Ingrid saw something that made her blood run cold: fear. It flashed in his eyes, just for an instant, before he blinked it away, but it was enough to make her stomach twist into knots. Tony Stark, the man who always had a plan, was terrified.

"He's okay," Peter whispered, his voice shaky. But the words felt hollow, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Ingrid. His eyes darted down to the bloodstained fabric where Tony had been stabbed. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and reached out, grasping Tony's elbow as though it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. "I got you, Mr. Stark," he repeated, the words coming out in a choked whisper.

"I'm okay," Tony muttered, the words barely audible, his voice rough and strained. It was as if he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was Ingrid and Peter, a hollow attempt to mask the fear and exhaustion in his eyes.

Ingrid wanted to believe him—needed to believe him. She reminded herself of who Tony was. This was a man who had taken a missile into space and somehow survived the impossible. This was a man who had fought Chitauri aliens, drones, and robots. Surely, if anyone could make it through this, it was him.

Her thoughts raced, grasping onto that fragile hope. Maybe they had panicked for nothing. Maybe, despite everything, they could still get out of this.

But then, a voice shattered the silence and her fragile sense of calm. "Something... is... happening," Mantis managed to choke out, her voice trembling with fear. Ingrid turned to see her, but before she could even comprehend the words, Mantis' body began to disintegrate, dissolving into a cloud of ash right before her eyes.

Ingrid's breath caught in her throat, her jaw dropping in horror. The sight was surreal, like a nightmare come to life. A terrible, icy feeling snaked down her spine, her entire body going numb as the gravity of what was happening sank in.

Drax's body was half gone, his form flickering like a candle in the wind. "Quill," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of confusion and fear before he too succumbed to the same fate, his ashes scattered into the air.

Ingrid’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a hammering reminder of the terror unfolding around them. Quill turned to Tony, his eyes wide and full of desperation, seeking reassurance from the man who had always seemed invincible.

"Steady, Quill," Tony said, though his voice wavered, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal. He watched helplessly as Quill’s expression shifted from shock to resignation.

"Oh, man," Quill sighed, his voice laced with a heartbreaking finality. Then, like a whisper in the wind, he too was gone, his ashes fluttering into the sky.

Ingrid's mind was racing, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of disbelief and horror. This couldn’t be real—couldn’t be happening. She looked to Tony, as if he might have an answer, a solution, anything to stop the nightmare unfolding around them. But his eyes held the same helplessness she felt, the same dawning realization that there was no escape from this.

"Tony," a voice called out, and they all turned to see Strange, his expression calm yet resigned. "There was no other way," he said, his voice carrying an eerie finality.

Before anyone could respond, Strange’s body began to dissolve, his ashes drifting into the air like the others before him.

Ingrid’s world had collapsed into a nightmare. She stared in shock and horror at everything unraveling before her eyes, her mind struggling to process the impossibility of it all. Mantis, Drax, Quill, Strange—they were all gone, erased from existence as if they had never been. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing with the dread that gripped her soul.

But then, a strange tingling sensation crept over her skin, an insidious numbness that started at her fingertips and began to crawl up her limbs. Panic flared in her chest as she realized what was happening. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately shook her head, as if she could will the sensation away. But the numbness only spread faster, making her limbs feel weightless, like they no longer belonged to her.

Ingrid’s gaze flicked to Peter, her heart shattering at the sight of him. He looked back at her, the dawning horror in his eyes mirroring her own. The sheer helplessness on his face was unbearable, and it broke her in ways she never thought possible. Unable to hold his gaze, she tore her eyes away, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

With the last of her strength, Ingrid pushed herself toward Tony. The numbness continued to climb, creeping up her arms and legs, the sensation terrifyingly surreal. She could feel herself slipping away, like sand through an hourglass. She grasped Tony's shoulders, her fingers trembling as they began to fade.

"Tony. Tony. Listen to me!" Ingrid's voice was thick with desperation, her words spilling out in a rush. She could see the disbelief in Tony's eyes, the way he shook his head as if refusing to accept what was happening. But there was no time— no time to argue, no time to hope. Only the crushing reality of the moment.

Peter, his face pale with fear, rushed to her side, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of him like that, so vulnerable, made Ingrid’s chest tighten with a mix of sorrow and urgency. She had to get the words out, had to say what needed to be said before it was too late.

"Please, Tony, you need to tell my dad I love him and—" Her voice faltered, the weight of the words heavy on her tongue, but she pushed through the rising panic.

Tony’s hand brushed the hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Hey, kid, calm down," he said, though his voice wavered, betraying the cracks in his resolve. "You'll get to tell him yourself."

Ingrid’s heart ached at his words, knowing he was lying, trying to soothe her even as the inevitable loomed over them both. But she didn’t have time to argue—didn’t have time to deny what was happening. She had to keep going.

"And tell Natasha I love her," she continued, her voice trembling as the numbness reached her chest. She could feel herself slipping away, her body dissolving into nothingness. "And Peter," she turned to him, her voice breaking as she said his name.

Peter reached out, cradling her face in his hands, his eyes wide with fear and helplessness. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in that fleeting moment. She wanted to tell him so much—everything she had never said, everything she would never get the chance to say. But the numbness was everywhere now, pulling her apart, and the words caught in her throat.

"I—"