Dawn of the End ||6||

8. The Sting Worsens

The stench of defeat was one that could not get off of us quick enough. It travelled with us back to the US from Wakanda. It clung to us once we returned to the new Avengers facility.

The place felt emptier somehow, and not just because of Thanos' victory.

As soon as we were back, the computers tracked all loss of life globally. The number had risen so fast it almost gave me whiplash. The number didn't seem to want to slow down either, let alone stop.

I hoped to the gods it would stop soon. Each number was another dagger of disappointment thrown at us. So many innocent lives just snuffed because someone believed they knew what was best for our world when he was more than likely not from our planet himself.

Natasha, Steve, and Rhodey at times kept an eye on the computer. I tried to avoid it as much as possible. Todd was of the same notion.

We got acquainted with the clothed raccoon, who could talk. While he was in mourning like the rest of us, he told us of the little band of misfits he had been part of. He'd caught us up as to how he and his group met Thor, etc., etc. And yet, through all of this, a talking raccoon named Rocket was not the thing that disturbed me most about the time we were in right now.

I kept to the old room Steve and I shared, or to the training room. Or the kitchen. Any place other than where the computers were tallying up the fatality count.

The anger in me really showed when I trained. Since arriving back home, my flames were blue. I conjured up enemies in my mind, mostly picturing Thanos. I'd morph my flames into whips, lashing at his stupid purple face. A sword to decapitate him or to chop him limb from limb. Daggers to cut into purple flesh or hack away at the arm that held that stupid gold gauntlet.

Today's solo training was no different. I opted out of my flame whips and went for my blades. Scorch marks appeared when the tips would scuff the floor. I tried to not give the room too much fire damage.

How could we have lost? What could have gone so wrong when I was knocked out that allowed him the victory? Nobody had been willing to divulge details, and some part of me was thankful for that. Knowing how we lost would only upset me more.

Kiara?

I stopped mid-swing, following through anyway, to see Thor of all people had entered the room.

"Need an ear?" I asked immediately. Thor had barely spoke on the ride home, let alone to anyone since arriving back here. I was surprised he used my alternate form of communication.

"Yes, yours." Thor had switched out his Asgardian armor for more baggy civilian clothes. He looked like a jock in need of a serious workout. "Do you have some time?"

I swallowed, making my flames vanish before tucking my blades away. "For you, of course. I need a breather anyhow." I'd worked up quite the sweat, I always did when I channeled my outrage from the loss in Wakanda.