Sylvie has lost a lot in her life.
She knows losing well. She knows it horrifically well, intimately so, and she knows the cruel, knife-bitten pain that sinks into the heart with loss.
She's lost homes, she's lost safety and peace; she's lost lives, she's lost loves.
Friends are a rare loss, one she hasn't experienced much of - but the threat of such is responsible for her immediate relief upon seeing both you and Loki.
Her hair hangs in her face in damp tendrils of blonde and black, mingling who-she-was with who-she-is in a telling smear of haunting revenge. Though she has her own momentary victories to celebrate, she's dares not utter them in the presences of the viciously cunning Ravonna Renslayer.
No, and even still, her own plan is shoved far back in her mind at the sight of you and Loki.
She knows the looks on your faces well - it's as if she is looking in a mirror, etched with her own visage. While she isn't sure exactly what has transpired to claw such stinging surrender out of Loki and such desperate, venomous spite out of you, she knows.
She knows someone is gone.
"Get off of me!" your voice cracks with rage as your feet lift in an almost child-like, desperate attempt to break free; and for a moment, the guards falter and attempt to catch you, only to send one toppling to the ground. Sylvie watches as you plant a hard kick to the Hunter's chest and spin to try and yank your arm from the other's grasp.
You're as biting as a hellcat, hellbent on digging your claws into anyone near.
Sylvie hasn't seen this side of you.
Loki hasn't either.
And he knows, he knows you are badass but it is heartbreak . His only pushes him farther in an icy depth, all while you battle the raging storm within you - and perhaps that's the beauty of it. The beauty of you two. How different you are in the face of loss.
Renslayer is one step ahead of you.
Renslayer is one step ahead of you.
Her baton is raised. It crackles dangerously at your throat. Your eyes level, and there's a flash of something there - and for a moment, a split second of frozen time, Ravonna is afraid.
You see it.
Through wet lashes, through gritted teeth, through a look so sharp it could cut her down where she stands.
But, her facade slips back into place, and the Judge holds you there with her weapon as the guards secure their hold on you once more.
They muscle you between Sylvie and Loki.
Renslayer leans, whispering in your ear.
"Best behave, Variant."
"Go to hell," you hiss as you stare at those golden elevator doors; but the dig aimed at Renslayer's throat lands, "Variant."
Everyone stiffens - but you don't move. Instead, there's a smug smirk on your face. Sylvie sees it, and she's almost proud. But, now isn't the time for gloating. No, over-confidence will be the end of the three of you.
After a moment too long, Renslayer clears her throat.
"I've got them from here."
Loki can feel the dread crawling up his neck, painting him pale - because the horrible truth of it is that this is the last dance. This is the final act, the end of the book. This is where he atones, where the full stop falls after he's told he'll never have those very things he yearns for; any inkling of hope was snuffed out with Mobius.
His friend.
And now, he's got to watch his only other two die by the same fated hand. A swing of a baton, the fizzle of a thousand burning embers. Then, nothing. Silence.
His hands, balled in tight fists, fight the urge to reach out to you - and when Loki looks across to Sylvie, he sees her regretful look.
"You okay?" she whispers to him.
All he can do is nod. You swallow down another burst of anger; instead, you grit your jaw and settle back on your heels.
The guards release the three of you.
And so, you're marched to the elevator. Collared and trapped.
You'd never really considered how you'd die - no, that very human thing was something you'd stayed far from. As a kid, you'd had nightmares about it. They were sudden and terrifying. Death, to you, was the sort of thing that dragged you away and took you when you were alone. It was dark and it was quiet and it was nothing. The unknown.
Maybe that's why you grew up always trying to prove the existence of life beyond your own.
Time, despite always ticking on, always ends. For you, for Loki, for Sylvie. For the TVA.
You can't help but feel a bit of peace at the realization you'll die beside friends.
The haunting regret falls at the knowledge you'll die beside the man you'll one day love - the man you'll know as yours. Loki, too, admits this is a horrifically brutal truth. It has carved him out, hollowed him, and he can only hope it's quick.
The pomp and circumstance is nothing but frivolous.
He despises it.
The elevator doors close in front of you, and you watch the hallways of the Time Theaters disappear.
Somewhere, far away, the finale begins - and as the elevator plummets. Each floor passes in a heavy fwush, accompanied by the weighted beat of your hearts.
It's Sylvie who speaks.
Beside you, her voice wavers. "Do you remember me?"
Behind you, Ravonna speaks curtly. "I do."
Another floor passes. Another breath.
"What was my Nexus Event?"
"What does it matter?" comes the scoffed reply.
But, Sylvie bites back. "It was enough to take my life from me, to lead to all of this. Must of been important. So, what was it?"
You can hear her scowl.
And then, Ravonna.
"I don't remember."
"You're a liar," you spit on reaction, knowing full well the reply would gut anyone - let alone Sylvie, "And a coward."
Your eyes stay forward. Loki inhales sharply.
Ravonna's eyes bore a hole into the back of your skull. "Am I?"
"I saw it in your eyes," you drawl, almost tauntingly, "You're afraid of me. Of us."
"Oh," comes a laugh, "Not you. No, Variant."
Then, the elevator settles.
The doors open.
The world falls away.
Gracious Time-Keepers!"
You step forward. Loki and Sylvie follow. The echo of the chamber is off putting, and over your shoulder you watch as you, preside of this... execution.
"As promised, the Variants."
Your eyes lift, and in the haze, you see them.
Three of them, perched on their thrones, like kings of a stolen land. Usurpers in their own right. You can't help but scoff at the frivolity of it all. It's like your sophomore year dorm room. Y'know, with those strip LEDs? Yeah, yeah, that's the look. And some dollar store rubber masks.
Something is... wrong. Like a puppet show.
"After all your struggle, at last you've arrived before us..."
"What do you have to say for yourselves before you meet your end, Variants?"
When Loki speaks, your head snaps to him.
It's courage you see.
A flash of something pure and brave, and it brings an awe smile to your face as he speaks up.
"Is that the only reason you brought us here?" Loki goads, "To kill us? I've lost track of the number of times I've been killed. So go on, do your worst."
"You and your bravado are no threat to us, Variant."
You don't bother to hide your scoff.
Sylvie does the same. "Oh, no, I don't think you believe that-"
She moves, attempting to step forward, and behind you
"I think you're scared."
"No, Variant, you're nothing but a cosmic disappointment-"
"Look at them," you snide, "Turning to mockery, like dogs with their tails between their legs-"
"Delete them-"
"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," you snap, stepping forward, but the phase never comes. That spin of vertigo doesn't yank you back in time. Suddenly, you wonder if it's Renslayer - but one look backwards confirms she's horrified. Confused. Concerned.
Rightfully so.
Because, as the elevators part, a new player enters the arena.
Hunter B-15 slams her thumb down on the control pad, and the collars around you, Loki and Sylvie's neck fall away.
Suddenly, the finale doesn't seem so certain - especially not when she stands her ground.
"For all time," she breathes with defiance, glowing in a new sense of purpose, "Always."
four guards and Judge Renslayer .
You find yourself back to back with Sylvie and Loki as the three of you are cornered in the center of the room - less like caged animals now and more like predators avoiding capture, promising revenge. The air has changed. The cold gives way to electric danger. you got your widow bite.
SKIP........
Loki's hands are gentle as he helps you up; he's careful to check your over with his eyes - and even more so, to offer you a pride-filled smile as his thumb graces the long gash across your jaw. Sweat mingles with blood, and yet, you feel beautiful in his gaze.
It's disarming.
Sylvie huffs, eyes flickering across the fallen form of the Commandant on the steps.
You can see the hurt there. The worry.
Sylvie flinches when you reach for her hand. Nevertheless, she takes it and she squeezes.
Loki, on her other side, hands her back her saber.
And it's then, that the Time-Keepers sense they've lost.
And you feel proud.
Boastful.
You're sneering when the one in the middle speaks in an echoing timber of bargain.
"You're a child of the Time-Keepers, too, Sylvie. We can talk."
"Oh, yeah?"
And with one perfectly aimed blow, her knife flies through the air and severs the head of the Time-Keeper straight off.
His head tumbles down the steps.
And, in the silence: laughter.
Your confidence melts away.
Something isn't right.
No, no, no - no. No, there's...
No blood.
It falls to Loki's feet, between the both of you, and you both share a horrified look when the sparks glow in the fog. Kisses of electricity fly from the neck of the supposed Time-Keeper.
Suddenly, a sound of mechanisms powering down fills the chamber. You look up, and you see the other two slump in their thrones, Gods turned to nothing more than wires and batteries. Animatronics.
Puppets.
Sylvie rushes down the steps.
She moves to pull the head from the ground to Loki's dismay, but you cannot pull your eyes away - the jaw of the supposed-deity twitches as sparks fly from his throat; and Sylvie breathes out one word:
"Fake."
Loki comes closer and you lift your eyes to the both of them.
"Mindless androids..."
The head slowly slips from her hands.
Loki heaves a breath - his eyes fall along the line of thrones as he shakes away a feeling of crushing anxiety. No, this is bad. This is... This seemed too easy. This was supposed to be the end.
"It never stops."
He inhales again, and you can see fear in his eyes.
"Then who created the TVA?" he asks desperately, eyes flicking between you and Sylvie.
"I thought this was it," she spits as she throws the head.
You drop, squatting low. Adrenaline still mingles in your veins. You wring your hands. You take three breaths, then you stand once more.
"This can't be it," you say as your voice shatters, "It can't be."
"We... We have nothing," Sylvie's composure crumbles, "Nothing but lies and more lies."
The horror of it all is setting in.
You shake your head. "No."
" y/n " Loki breathes out, "Please."
"This isn't how it goes," you say sharply as you spin around and look up at the levels and levels and levels of this place; you're frantic, "This isn't how the stories go - this isn't how they end."
"We aren't heroes," Sylvie spits at the head as she throws her hands, "We just don't get happy endings. And so the TVA will rule on. And people like us will be stolen and deleted. As it was, as it will be."
Your face falls. Sylvie can see your heartbreaking. Loki, too, knows the wobble of your chin well - and he sees the gutted expression swallow you whole.
Quietly, you whisper: "But, we deserve to be happy."
Sylvie chokes.
"y/n"
His heart clenches.
You reach for his hand and it all but seals his death in a neatly packaged letter - complete with a forlorn look that's enough to break him in two.
"I have to tell you something."
Your heart stills. It feels as if someone has gone and plucked the most harrowing love theme on your heartstrings. The sort that plays before the kiss, before the confession, before the blurry haze of hope.
He reaches for you, hands falling along your jaw.
He holds you, if only for a moment.
You can only try your best to battle back the tears.
His whole world slows down - and in it, in your eyes, he sees promise. Could-have-beens. Promises kept and promises lost. Love and life and death. He sees laughter, and kisses in the sun of the morning. He sees your smile, he sees life together, and then it's gone.
...You're gone.
Gone, gone, gone.
Gone.
He's alone.
You've slipped through his fingers like snow.