The rain poured down in heavy sheets, soaking through your suit and chilling you to the bone, but you barely felt it. The dirty sand beneath you was stained with rain pouring, all the choices that had brought you here. Now, there were only two of you left.

In one hand, you gripped a knife so tightly your knuckles turned white, the cold steel an extension of your own shaking body. Across from you, Thanos stood still, his own blade reflecting the dim lights above, his expression unreadable.

“You know I did him a favor.” Thanos’ voice was calm, almost too calm, given the circumstances. He wasn’t even raising his knife, just watching you with something like pity in his eyes. “He was going to die anyway. I made it quick.” His words cut deeper than the blade in your hand. Your best friend—your best friend—had been left to die at Thanos’ hands, and now he had the nerve to act like it was mercy?

“Bullshit,” you spat, stepping closer, the knife trembling slightly in your grip. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to act like you did something noble.” Your voice cracked, frustration and grief tangled in your throat. You wanted to lunge at him, to carve your anger into his skin, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain clawing at your chest ever since that dinner. But then what? Could you really kill him? After everything?

Thanos sighed, rolling his shoulders, the rain running down his face like tears neither of you would ever shed. “You think I wanted to do it?!” His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw something beneath his usual confidence—regret, maybe even pain. He shifted his grip on the knife, holding it tighter. “I had to. Just like you’re going to have to do it now.”

The words settled between you like a weight too heavy to bear. The cold air, the rain, the blood soaking the ground—it all felt distant. You should attack, end it before he could, but your feet refused to move for some reason.