EPITHET || [l. loki]

x. In The Pits of Hell

──⇌•♚•⇋──

❝Do you enjoy killing people?❞

THERE WAS A rush of horror that flooded into her veins when she fell the first Chitauri soldier not too far from the Stark Tower. Although they are mindless command-takers... they are still her supposed comrades. As a soldier-- as a warrior who fights alongside others at times, trained by her own general father to command legions... betrayal was the greatest type of offense.

The hilt of the dagger within her hands dug into her palms and Cyra stood still for an entire minute, almost as if expecting a type of punishment to come to her. But it never did. She let out a sigh of relief, but her chest was still heavy with a sense of guilt and uneasiness.

She couldn't shake the look of hurt... of betrayal etched on Loki's face. It made her wonder: "Wasn't I the one who killed my father's associates before on every occasion he has commanded me to do so?" She felt like fucking different person in only these few past weeks and it terrified her greater than her imposing doom.

The man of iron had long flown off somewhere, probably summoning his own reinforcements. Cyra was a bit lost in the big city and the booming sound of coming war. She felt vulnerable— more vulnerable than she had ever been without her army behind her. She was a leader— not a soldier.

"Fuck," she muttered, flexing her blood around her wrist. A single wave of her arm can send a sharp solidified spike of blood through her enemy, cementing her second kill of betrayal. Can it even be called an unjustified betrayal after everything her father had put her and her sisters through? She wasn't the one who was fit to judge that. But if she didn't fight now, perhaps there wouldn't be the day she becomes worthy to do so.

"Hey you," a filtered voice snagged her attention from afar, "Yes you, the one with the nice jacket." His words caught her off guard and Cyra was tackled with a Chitauri soldier who had somewhere snuck past her defenses and jumped on her.

It was instinct when she jabbed her arm wholly into its body mercilessly and took his blood as her new weapon. She used the Chitauri's own blood to pierce its flesh.

"Damn." The man of Iron stopped in front of her.

'What's with the ugly mask design?' was her first thought before she raised her solidified blood-red lance of an arm defensively.

"Whoah, whoah," He also held up his hands before lowering them upon realizing that the laser-blasting palms were probably not going to prove that he is not hostile. "I must say, you are still hot when tearing through those aliens."

Cyra shot him a quizzical look before tossing the limp body down the side of the building she stood upon. "I do not comprehend your meaning."

"Great another Shakespearean," He muttered underneath his breath before landing on the concrete, "Doth mother know you-- actually, never mind. My point is, do whatever you want, just save New York."

"What do I get out of it?" she cocked her head.

"Whoah," he took a step back, "Didn't you dive out of the tower to save me? What other intention could you have?"

"Well I don't really know." She narrowed her eyes, blood solidifying on her arm like a sharp knife, "How should I know to trust you? How do I know you won't turn me in?"

He paused. "Well uhh... my name is Tony Stark." He held out his hand. "You have my word." He proceeded to eye her arm cautiously, "And I believe if I try going back on my word, you would have me dead... immediately. There's no reason for me to lie."