They had failed the earth. Failed to protect it, to avenge it. Failed to do everything but bleed.
Tony’s sure he’s the last of them alive, they’d struggled so hard, fought till their bodies had given out under the pressure. Bones broke, skin ripped, blood had poured so much like crimson rain.
Shield had tried, the nuke over Manhattan was not the saving grace, there was no closing the portal once it was open, the Tesseract assured its survival. The god assured his own.
Loki had risen from the ashes like an apocryphal angel. The beast of Armageddon, eyes ablaze as he rained his wrath down upon humans.
When other atom bombs were sent; that red button pushed, he’d warped his magic and turned them against humanity. LA, Washington, New York, Tokyo, Moscow, Amsterdam, Jerusalem; all the major cities were the first to go. From there Loki had spread out his army, destroying the civilized world in less than a day. The sky a crimson ash of fallout and the rivers tainted with wormwood and blood.
Everything gone, trampled over, ruined under the destructive wrath of a scorned god.
Subjection could never be more brutal.
Breathing slowly hurt, the shallow draws nothing but a wet drag, the wheezes echoing through the large empty chamber.
Tony’s not sure where he is, America is a ruin; Loki’s wrath especially focused there, the air cold and damp. Maybe Britain. Its dim lit and cavernous where ever it is, the Tesseract casting the space in an unearthly blue that blurs his vision. The shadows move here, swimming, although he’s not sure if that’s his own nausea.
Closing his eyes against the tears that threaten to spill. Failure gnawing at his belly almost as much as the pain threatens to bring up what blood has collected in his empty stomach.
“Do not tell me you mourn for them still?” The whisper against his cheek has him pulling at the chains that bind his gauntlets in place against the wall. His shattered ribs grinding with the movement.
Opening his eyes slowly Tony regards Loki with as much skepticism as he can manage, his wit is gone, his fast tongue dormant in his mouth. The great Tony Stark a broken trophy in Loki’s throne room.
Warm fingers are delicate as they grip his bruised jaw, turning his head to meet Loki’s glowing eyes in the dim blue light.
“You shed tears for mortals you do not know? No I think not. For your comrades in arms, people you despise? Hate? Loathe?” Loki whispers against his skin, the hot tickle of breath the first warmth Tony’s felt in days and his skin crawls even as his body craves the comfort of gentle contact.
“The man whom shattered your childhood? Who stole your father’s love, I wonder? Are the tears for him? Or the woman assassin? You openly admitted to hating her how long ago? Nigh but a blink in time has passed, surly the tears are not for her.”
The back of the gods fingers are gentle as they stroke away the dampness from his cheeks, the shock of a hot tongue lapping the blood from the corner of his mouth as Loki’s lips move so dangerously close to his. Long fingers fitting under a tear in his suit, stroking against his blood and sweat soaked chest earning him something caught between a whimper and a moan from Tony’s throat.
Betrayed by his own body, his soul only wishing to flee.
“No… is it the man within the dull beast? Your colleague.” The word is hissed like it tastes bitter in the god’s mouth, his fingers curling against a gash in his side, digging in till fresh blood dribbles hot over his fingers. Tony’s vision blurring and he knows death will be coming soon, his heart skipping and stumbling in his chest, failing to find a steady tempo as pain overwhelms him.
“Did he not attempt to find an end to his suffering himself? Mayhap I was simply answering unspoken prayers.” Loki seems to muse, tilting his head to the side like a curious child. Lips twisting into a smile. “I am a god after all.”
Tony groans his knees sagging under his weight as Loki’s fingers move down from the wound. Breathing in as sharp of a breath as he dares. Shaking with the cold of shock and blood loss his head dips foreword, resting his temple to Loki’s chest as the god strokes his fingers up his numb arms and around the cuffs and gauntlets that hang above his head. Seeming to be examining the bindings for a moment with a casual air.
“Would you pray to me mortal?” He asks as his hands return to Tony’s face, cursedly warm as he cups his cheeks and brings his chin up. Staring down into his eyes and soul and watching with his immoral smile as Tony shivers and slips a little further away.
“How easily you’ve said it before.” Warm lips are against his ear now, Loki nuzzling against his blood and sweat matted hair. “Oh god, oh god, please god.”
“Yesss…” The god hisses, stroking his hands down blood soaked armor, fingers dipping between tears and fissures to touch crimson slick skin. His tongue tasting the skin just under Tony’s ear, warm and hot. A promise of pleasure in a world so consumed in hurt.
“How many of your prayers have I so willingly answered without you even knowing it?”
His hot fingers find a tear in the suit at his hip, just the tips of blood slick fingers stroking against un-bruised skin leaving fire and goose bumps in their wake.
“How many am I willing to answer still?” He whispers against damp skin, breathing in like he can smell Tony’s fear and horror, comfort and arousal.
“I can be forgiving, accommodating even. All you must do is ask properly. Can you do that? After everything, can you still pray to me?”
Loki backs off for a damming moment as Tony stubbornly uses his mouth to do nothing but breath and let blood drop down the ruin of armor over his chest. Loki’s furious eyes calming for as he examines him. Reaching out and stroking his hand over the dull flicker of the arc, his eyes studying the pale glow with its cracks and blood streaks.
Tony sucks in a breath, body bumping boneless to the ground. His bare hands slipping right out of the shackles as his destroyed armor disappears from his body, old wounds tearing open, painting the hard ground red with his blood as he falls onto it. The soft cry that leaves his cracked lips is weak and heartbroken.
He couldn’t stop the shakes that tremor through his body even if he had the will to. His vision swimming with the shadows of approaching death as Loki kneels at his side, cape dipping into the pool of blood.
“Pray to me.” The god whispers lowly, stroking his fingers reverently through Tony’s hair and over his cheek.
His fingers tinged green with healing magic, his wicked eyes full of promises.
Tony closes his eyes slowly to block out the blurred world around him. His heart was calm and even as the muscle fluttered and stumbled.