the last chapter of Part 3
I warned you it was short.
Chapter 35
Four systems, three galaxies, trillions of lives gone.
Four million ships sent into the chaos, less than half returned.
Fifteen kings. Eighty five leaders. Two thousand generals. A quarter of the estimated population of the galaxy, dead.
The death toll, cataclysmic as it might seem, did not compare to the utter, unending devastation of that first Great War with Galactus. Not only the initial war, but the fallout of the alien virus spread afterward. Despite the loss, the death, the utter horror of all they had suffered, the war was considered won. Galactus had at last, and forever more, been contained in the cataclysmic blackness created in the Goliath particle fallout. A fallout triggered by Odin Allfather, the greatest of the Fifteen Kings
Standing on the concrete lookout in Lakeheed, Alfheimr, Bruce Banner didn't feel that much had been won at all. The elven race had been decimated. Rinon and his entire ruling party were killed. Their queen, beheaded in the first wave. Scarcely one in four returned to their clans again. They were, in the grand scheme, more fortunate than others. Ten thousand Galaxy Red inhabitants remained living, homeless and drifting. The Nova Corps somehow withstood utter devastation, but even Nova Prime fell on the field of battle. He couldn't even think about Earth and all those never to come home again.
Vision, Xavier, Storm, Jean Grey, Hank Pym . . . The list continued to scroll through his memory, sending chills up his spine. Only one thing kept him from tearing his clothes away and disappearing into the Alfheimr forest as the Incredible Hulk, and that was the overwhelming loss closest to him.
Bruce heard a clang of metal on metal, and turned gently to see the procession heading toward him. The party was small, intimate, the way Clint would have wanted it. Alfheimr wanted to honor the man who saved their entire race. In the devastation the shattered World Council now suffered through, Clint's sacrifice became a blip in the greater scheme of the war itself. The only ones standing here now, were the ones who knew him best. The original Avengers. The best of them. The ones who became the family he never had.
Tony tried to stand. He wanted to face the ancient Doodle Bygrove, the oldest elf in the entire realm, and stand strong as Doodle lit the pyre in the center of the Lakeheed Court.
Pride, shame, neither of them held him up enough. He collapsed to his knees, his hands spread in his lap, watching the flames of the symbolic pyre leap into the air. He was lucky to attend at all. Grief, anger, and desperation all churned him into an animalistic force. Coming to from the hearty sock Loki gave him, Tony instantly set onto Thor and attempted to kill him. It took Bruce and Steve both to pry him away. The Asgardian lay, immobilized, in his hospital bed and very close to death. What he found in the dark depths of Nova Luna, they had yet to understand beyond the shredded flesh on his body. Loki attended the ceremony only briefly before returning to Thor's side.
Across from them, Natasha sat, tucked into the carved gold and marble of a vine covered lattice. She'd spoken to no one in the twelve hours since Clint's death. She fell back into herself, becoming cold, emotionless, and empty. Clint leaped in front of her. She'd watched him let her go, and that very image would remain in her mind for the rest of her life. Steve stood by her, vowing to never leave.
Bruce turned away from the faces of his friends and watched the flames instead. He couldn't often feel the Hulk hiding beneath his skin, but that monster sprung to the forefront of his mind now. He'd loved the archer. Somehow, they'd always gotten along, better than even Bruce and Clint had. He never truly understood it, but then again it never mattered. The Hulk wouldn't let the doctor grieve, run off, escape his feelings and thoughts to become that raw…never. The Hulk didn't want to feel it either.
"What are we going to do? What are any of us going to do?"
Bruce turned slightly, watching the emotion and grief fall over the face of the elves. He'd grown to love the race of peculiar, silent beings. Linnor, Lirrie, Rinon, Reylano . . . all of them lost. Their regency, destroyed. Doodle had reached the end of his years. He could not possibly be looked to now. Eyes cast instead to the last, living, former queen. Bruce wondered if Fehreh, stricken in grief, might take up where she once stepped away. He might never know.
It was high time to return home, to Earth, at last.
drop the mic.
stay tuned for part 4 -Reassembled-