Lost Soldiers (Avengers Fan Fiction #3)

Chapter 1

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?