The time for rest had not come yet. Earth still needed to be protected. With weariness in their bones, they could only hope that the Outriders had fallen, as they had on Asgard. If not, they would once again be thrust into yet another battle. The children of Thanos were a threat, according to the Guardians. The Mad Titan had picked each and every one of them with a certain twisted care, and those exhibited an unwavering faith, surpassing even the conviction of Thanos himself. It was a devotion rooted in a fervent belief in their professed mission, burning with an intensity that surpassed comprehension. Tony would never understand that level of blind loyalty. The scientist in him would always question everything.
They skywalked in the middle of the battlefield, a sea of dead bodies stretching as far as the eye could see. The price of war had exacted its toll, and even the valiant warriors of Wakanda had not emerged unscathed. Thankfully, their numbers were still small in comparison to what they might have been if Hela had not killed Thanos so quickly.
Relief washed over them as they surveyed the scene. The outriders, those relentless foot soldiers of chaos, had fallen, considerably more numerous than the fallen Wakadians. The survivors were all focused on a hill afar. As they were walking there, Hela gave Loki the gauntlet if only temporarily. She trusted him to store it securely in one of his pocket dimensions. The Stones would have to be dealt with later.
In the midst of the chaos, the Guardians of the Galaxy were fighting and clearly winning against two of those so-called Children of Thanos. Gamora, driven by an inflexible determination, engaged in a relentless sword combat with the female alien, as if she had to fulfil a special vengeance against her. Her movements were precise. Thanos had taught her well.
Her sister, Nebula, was fighting the male alien with unbridled rage, channelling a lifetime of resentment and pain into each strike. Her mechanical enhancements were helping her greatly. Surely her so-called father would be so proud now. It was a weirdly beautiful sight, despite the brutality of the fight, to witness the two sisters work along so well. It was over in no time. Gamora and Nebula had chosen the same punishment for Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive that Hela had inflicted on their father. They would leave the fate of the universe to chance.
Nobody cheered or even made a sound as a heavy silence shrouded the aftermath of the battle. They had won but the gravity of the situation weighed upon their hearts. The world had come perilously near to its end. There was a lot to consider about how the situation had got there and what it would be appropriate to do in the future.
Luck had been on their side so far, but how could they be certain that it would remain that way? The rest of the universe would soon learn that the little planet they believed to be so underdeveloped had just been critical in defeating the Mad Titan. This knowledge, they hoped, would serve as a deterrent to other warlords who may entertain notions of conquest, or because they wanted the Infinity Stones for themselves. It would give them a period of respite from those imminent threats. They knew all too well that this moment of grave would not last forever.
Tony Stark looked at the situation as they climbed the hill, at the Guardians and Strange on one side and Captain America and the Scarlet Witch on the other. His curiosity got the better of him.
"What happened to him?" Tony's voice cut through the silence.
Wanda was sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, either dead or unconscious. Did Steve still think that they couldn't save everybody now, and that it was the harsh reality of war? The Captain was heavily sitting sideways, his shoulder resting on a big tock, groaning in obvious discomfort from a wound he had sustained in the back. The super-soldier serum coursing through his veins would heal him soon enough. Physically and morally, a knife cut to the back was not an easy one to heal from.
