-Broadcast-
The next moment, Thanos returned from the Soul World to reality. The Infinity Gauntlet was smoking, white wisps rising from the blackened metal. The entire artifact showed obvious signs of severe burn damage—the stones' sockets were cracked, the metal warped. Even with Uru metal reinforced by Nidavellir's master craftsmanship, channeling that much power through a snap had nearly destroyed it.
Thor stared at Thanos, his mind racing to understand what had just happened. His voice rose to a shout. "What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Thanos looked down at the ruined gauntlet on his left hand, flexing his fingers experimentally. The damage was extensive, but the stones still glowed—diminished, but functional. He didn't answer Thor's question. There was no point. What was done, was done.
The Space Stone flared weakly. A portal opened, and Thanos stepped through without a backward glance, leaving only Stormbreaker embedded in the ground where he'd fallen. The blade was still stained with purple blood, proof that the Mad Titan could bleed, could be hurt—but not stopped.
Thor stared at the empty space where his enemy had been, his hand still reaching for the axe that was no longer there. He didn't understand. What had the snap accomplished? What had—
"Where did he go?" Captain America's voice cut through Thor's confusion. Steve was limping across the battlefield, one hand pressed to his ribs where Thanos's punch had likely cracked bone. "Thor! Where did he go?"
Thor looked up at Steve, mouth opening to respond—
"Steve?" Bucky's voice called out from the other side of the clearing.
Both men turned. Bucky Barnes stood near a fallen tree, his expression confused. He was looking at his right hand—his flesh hand—which had begun to dissolve. Particles of ash were flaking away from his fingers, spreading up his arm like a disease.
"Steve?" Bucky's voice was smaller now, frightened, as he watched his own body disintegrate.
His legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, then fell forward. By the time he hit the ground, there was nothing left but a pile of gray ash and his fallen rifle.
Steve ran forward—or tried to. His injured ribs made him stumble, but he pushed through the pain and dropped to his knees beside the pile of dust that had been his oldest friend. His hand reached out, touched the ash, and it scattered in the wind.
"No." The word was barely a whisper. "No, no, no—Buck?"
All across the battlefield, it was happening. Wakandan warriors who had been tending to their wounded suddenly began turning to ash. One moment they were there—flesh and blood, alive—and the next they were gone, scattered on the wind like dandelion seeds.
T'Challa had rushed to Okoye's side, reaching down to help her up. "Up, General! Up! This is no place to die!"
Okoye grabbed his offered hand—and felt it turn to powder in her grip. She fell backward as T'Challa's entire arm dissolved, then his shoulder, his chest. He looked down at himself in dawning horror and understanding, then back at Okoye.
Their eyes met. No words passed between them. What could you say at the end of everything?
Then T'Challa was gone. Just dust on the wind.
Okoye stared at the empty space where her king had been standing. She knelt in the grass, surrounded by piles of ash that had been her warriors, her friends, her purpose. Her voice was hollow with shock. "My King?"
Nearby, Rocket Raccoon watched as teenage Groot, angry and brave and still learning what it meant to be alive—began to dissolve while leaning against a tree trunk. The young Flora Colossus looked down at his hands as they turned to ash, then up at Rocket.
"I am Groot." I don't want to go.
"No. No, no, no, NO!" Rocket stumbled toward him, his paws reaching out. "Groot! No! Not you! Not—"
Groot was gone before Rocket could reach him. The small pile of ash that remained looked like nothing. Like Groot had never been there at all.
Rocket fell to his knees in the dust, his body shaking. "Not you. Please not you."
Wanda Maximoff knelt beside Vision's gray, lifeless body. She'd just killed the man she loved to save the universe. She'd endured watching Thanos undo that sacrifice. She'd watched Vision die again, permanently this time. And now—
She felt it. A numbness spreading from her fingers, her body beginning to dissolve.
Wanda didn't cry. Didn't scream. She simply looked up at the sky, at the smoke and dust and fading light, and let out one long, exhausted breath. Her shoulders sagged as if a great weight had finally been lifted.
Then she was gone. More ash on an ash-covered battlefield.
Sam Wilson tried to push himself up from where he'd fallen after Thanos's attack. His wings were damaged, his body aching. "I'm up, I'm up," he muttered to himself. "I'm—"
He turned to dust mid-sentence. The wind scattered what remained.
War Machine stood a dozen meters away, calling out. "Sam? Sam!" He activated his armor's sensors, scanning for life signs. "Where are you? Sam, come in!"
Nothing. Just empty air where his friend should have been.
On Titan, the battered survivors were regrouping. Star-Lord helped Mantis to her feet, his hands gentle despite the shaking. Spider-Man supported Tony's weight, the kid surprisingly strong despite his own injuries.
Mantis's antennae suddenly lit up. Her empathic senses detected something—a wave of death approaching faster than light, inevitable as sunrise. "Something... something is happening."
Tony looked at her, about to ask what she meant—
Mantis vanished. Simply ceased to exist between one heartbeat and the next.
Before anyone could process it, Drax looked down at his arm. Gray ash was spreading from his fingertips. He turned his head slowly toward Star-Lord, confused. "Quill?"
Then he was gone too. Another pile of dust on Titan's red soil.
Star-Lord spun around, breathing hard, trying to understand. "What's happening? What's—"
"Steady, Quill." Tony's voice was tight with barely controlled panic. He could see what was happening even if he couldn't understand it. Half of them were disappearing. Half of—
"Oh, man." Star-Lord looked down at his hands, saw them beginning to dissolve, and his voice was small, almost childlike. "Oh, man."
He was gone.
"Tony." Strange's voice made Stark turn around.
Doctor Strange stood calmly, his hands at his sides, the Cloak of Levitation still draped over his shoulders. He looked at Tony with an expression of profound sadness and something else—apology, perhaps. Or acceptance.
"There was no other way," Strange said quietly. His eyes held Tony's, making sure the message was received and understood.
Then Strange began to dissolve too. The Cloak tried to hold onto him, to keep him together, but it couldn't. In seconds, both sorcerer and relic were gone.
Tony stood alone on the empty battlefield, turning in a slow circle, trying to process—
"Mr. Stark?"
The voice was small, frightened. Tony spun to see Peter Parker stumbling toward him, the kid's face white with shock. Sweat dripped from his forehead despite the cold.
"I don't feel so good." Peter's voice broke on the last word. His spider-sense had warned him earlier than the others, given him precious seconds to understand what was happening to him. To feel death approaching.
"You're alright," Tony said automatically, moving toward Peter even as his mind screamed that nothing was alright, nothing would ever be alright again.
Peter stumbled and nearly fell. Tony caught him, held him up. "I don't know what's happening," Peter babbled, his teenage composure shattering as terror took over. "I don't—I don't know—"
His legs gave out. Tony lowered him to the ground, cradling the kid as Peter clung to his armor with desperate strength.
"I don't wanna go." Peter's voice was breaking, tears streaming down his face. "I don't wanna go, Mr. Stark, please. Please, I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go..."
"It's okay," Tony lied, his voice strangled. He held Peter tighter, as if he could physically prevent this from happening. "It's okay, kid."
Peter looked up at him one last time, his brown eyes wide and terrified and so, so young. "I'm sorry."
Then Peter Parker turned to ash in Tony Stark's arms.
Tony knelt there on Titan's barren ground, his arms still positioned as if holding something. Ash covered his hands, his chest, slowly drifting away on the alien wind.
His entire body was shaking. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The kid—Peter—the kid he'd recruited, the kid he'd tried to protect, the kid he'd grown to love like a son—
Nebula approached slowly, her cybernetic parts whirring softly in the silence. Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "He did it."
Tony lowered his head, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. His eyes were wet. His breathing was ragged. He couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The weight of failure—of losing everyone, of watching Peter die afraid and apologizing for it—crushed down on him like a physical force.
They'd lost.
-Real World-
The viewers sat in stunned silence, many of them with tears streaming down their faces. They'd known it was coming—the broadcast had told them this would happen—but knowing and seeing were two different things.
Captain America took a deep breath, his voice carefully controlled. "That must be the Decimation. They disappeared for five years before we brought them back."
Tony downed his entire drink in one swallow, then poured another. "The important question is: how did we do it? How did we bring them back?"
The egg-head squinted thoughtfully. "Find Thanos. Take the Infinity Gauntlet. Snap our own fingers to undo what he did."
Bruce Banner nodded slowly. "That makes sense. He can't keep the gauntlet on forever. He has to sleep, to rest. We wait for an opening. And Scott doesn't disappear in the footage—maybe he's the key to getting close to Thanos without being detected."
"That tracks," War Machine agreed. "Thanos wouldn't notice something ant-sized approaching. It could be one of the factors that led to our success."
Sam Wilson frowned. "So you're saying we spent five years planning, successfully stole the gauntlet back, Banner snapped his fingers to bring everyone back—"
"And then we fought another battle where we still lost," Barton finished. "Which forced Tony to sacrifice himself with a final snap to destroy Thanos. It fits the narrative we've been shown."
"But that doesn't explain Natasha," Clint continued, his voice troubled. "Why did she need to sacrifice herself to get the Soul Stone? Did Thanos return it somehow? That doesn't make sense."
Natasha shook her head. "No, you're right. There are factors we don't know about. Five years is a long time. The plan must have been more complex than just stealing the gauntlet Thanos already used. There might be complications we can't predict from what we've seen."
Captain America's expression was grim. "But here's the critical point: this plan doesn't work for us now. If Thanos makes his move in our timeline, he'll never give us a five-year window or any chance to turn things around. We absolutely cannot afford to lose the first battle."
Star-Lord tried to sound optimistic. "Hey, we're not the only ones worried about this. Every civilization in the galaxy is watching these broadcasts. They're not going to let Thanos succeed that easily. We'll have allies—"
Everyone turned to glare at him. They knew intellectually that Strange had said Star-Lord's interference didn't change the outcome, that they were always going to lose that battle. But emotionally? It was hard not to blame the man whose rage had cost them their best chance.
Star-Lord wilted under the collective stare and wisely said nothing more.
The broadcast continued, showing the scattered remnants of Earth's defenders standing among piles of ash that had been their friends, their family, their hope.
Half the universe was gone.
And the survivors had to figure out how to live with that.