The minute the tip of the blade touches his chest, everything is thrown upside down.
He retains everything, all the tactical knowledge he’s ever accumulated, all the weapons training he’s gone through, all the layouts he’s ever memorized, but everything else is gone. Gone but that one remaining thought in his head.
It is a weightlessness, a surge of white noise that blanks out everything but the overpowering need to give the Tesseract what its wielder demands.
He knows exactly what he is doing.
He remembers all the arrows he has fired, all the people (enemies) he has recruited and all the damage he’s done, even if it’s a hazy blur tinted with a brilliant blue.
He remembers the voice that pushes at the back of his mind that sounds a little like him, the times where sometimes things would become a little clearer before sliding out of focus, drowned out by the single-minded need of the cube thrumming in his veins.
He remembers everything, including her.
And then all he remembers is pain and darkness.