You didn't stop. The rhythm of your strikes was relentless, a thunderous cadence that echoed through the empty space.

 Each blow was a promise of fury, a declaration that Loki would learn the price of defiance. His body crumpled under the weight of your rage, but you didn't show mercy. His face, once sharp and proud, was being battered, each strike blurring the line between anger and control. 

Blood trickled down his jaw, staining his teeth, the crimson becoming a dark river against the pallor of his skin. He could barely stand anymore, knees buckling as his breath grew shallow. But still, you didn't relent. You forced him to the ground, his face scraping the cold, unforgiving floor, a mixture of sweat and blood mingling with the dirt. His eyes, once bright with defiance, now blinked through a veil of blood, wide with disbelief, begging for something—anything—to make it stop. But you weren't done. Not yet. Not until you had broken him entirely.

"Y-you'll pay for hurting us," Venom hissed, his teeth gleaming in the dim light, each word dripping with venomous fury. The sound was like nails scraping across metal, sharp and filled with threat. He was a force of nature, his black form shifting with a restless energy, tendrils twitching as though ready to strike at any moment.

You said nothing. Silence was your weapon, the calm before the storm. Your stillness, however, unnerved Loki more than any words could have. He was accustomed to subjugating those who crossed him, his charm and cunning enough to bring even the most dangerous to their knees. But this—this creature, this force—was something different. It was as though Venom didn't care for the rules of the world Loki had bent to his will for so long. Venom neither bowed to him nor feared him, and that, more than anything, made Loki blanch.

Never before had Loki encountered something so untamed, so beyond his control. His usual arrogance faltered for a brief moment as he looked between you and the symbiote, realizing the dangerous truth—this wasn't a game he could win, not with mere words or manipulation. The realization weighed heavily on him, the first crack in his armor showing as his breath quickened and his once unshakable confidence wavered.

A web shot suddenly crackled through the air, swinging between you and Venom, halting both of you in your tracks. It was precise and quick, the signature swish of Spiderman's webbing wrapping around the space between you like a warning. "Y/N, don't," he called, his voice urgent but filled with a strange kind of understanding. "This isn't you."

Venom, snarling with a hunger for vengeance, bared his teeth, the black goo of his form slithering with barely contained fury. His eyes—wild, filled with an untamed need for retribution—locked onto Spider-Man, but he remained momentarily still, sensing the shift in tension.

Spider-Man landed between you and Loki, his presence solid, unwavering. His masked face turned towards you, his words soft but firm, "I know Venom's driven by rage, but we don't kill anyone here, okay?" His voice held the weight of someone who'd seen the dark side of vengeance, yet never crossed that line.

Loki, still bloodied and battered, could only stare—bewildered by the sudden change, the unexpected intervention. He had expected this to be his victory, but the arrival of Spider-Man threw everything into chaos. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure whether to play his usual game of manipulation or retreat into the shadows.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stood there, caught between the rage that burned inside you and the words that Spider-Man had placed between you and the darkness. The webbing between you, like an invisible thread, held you back, but would it be enough? Would you be enough to stop the onslaught of fury that Venom wanted to unleash?

Iron Man landed next to Spider-Man with a controlled thud, his sleek armor gleaming in the dim light, repulsors glowing with a soft hum. The metallic voice echoed through the suit's speakers as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace, the glowing blue of his repulsors flickering in the tense silence. "I don't want it to come to me having to put you down, Y/N," Tony Stark said, his tone surprisingly gentle, but firm. His eyes, though hidden behind the faceplate, carried the weight of someone who knew what it meant to fight darkness. "Just let go of Venom, and we can fight this like real heroes."

The words hung in the air, charged with an urgency that could not be ignored. Loki, still kneeling in a bloodied heap, glanced between the three of you—each of them standing between him and the very wrath he'd set in motion. He was no fool; even in his twisted, power-hungry arrogance, he could recognize the dynamic unfolding in front of him. Spider-Man's sincerity, Iron Man's unwavering stance—it was clear. You were surrounded, not by enemies, but by a team that cared.

Venom, feeling the pressure from all sides, snarled, his massive form flexing as if the symbiote itself were torn between the desire to destroy and the fading sense of the bond he shared with you. But there was no time for hesitation. The moment was slipping away, a storm waiting to break, and it all came down to you. Would you give in to the rage, or would you listen to the plea in Tony's words? The weight of the decision pressed down on you, suffocating, as you felt the tug of both sides.

You tipped your head slightly, eyes narrowing in focus. A sudden, brilliant beam of light erupted from you, wrapping around Loki like a shroud. His eyes widened in shock as the light encased him, pulling him from the battlefield and into the air with a force that was unmistakably yours. The beam lifted him, his form distorting in the radiance, before vanishing entirely, taking him away—gone, transported into the Grandmaster's ship.

The moment Loki disappeared, the tension in the air seemed to shatter. But it was brief, fleeting. The sudden exhaustion that followed hit you like a freight train, and your body collapsed to the ground with a thud, the energy you had summoned fading into nothingness. Your vision blurred, your breath ragged, and darkness crept in from the edges of your consciousness.

The world seemed to slow, the sounds of your surroundings growing distant, muffled by the overwhelming weight of fatigue. Everything that had led up to this moment—the rage, the fight, the intervention from your allies—it all melted away as darkness wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket.

Your mind fought to stay afloat, but the pull of unconsciousness was too strong. Your body, still trembling from the aftermath, sank into the cool ground as everything faded into blackness.

SCENEBREAK

When you awoke, your senses were flooded with disorienting smells and sounds, the sterile, unfamiliar hum of alien technology buzzing softly in the background. Your eyes fluttered open, the world spinning briefly before it settled into focus. You were in a strange med bay, its walls lined with strange equipment and illuminated by an eerie glow. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic mixed with something floral, foreign to your usual environment.

Sitting near a bench, the Collector watched you with a quiet, almost amused expression. He was sipping from a goblet, some sort of mead—its golden liquid shimmering in the dim light. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes locking onto yours as he spoke, his tone smooth yet laced with an almost detached curiosity. "Ah, you're awake."

You shifted slightly, your body sore and stiff from the earlier exertion, the memory of everything rushing back in flashes. Loki's escape, the overwhelming fury, and then the darkness...

The Collector set his goblet down, casually opening the door with a soft whoosh. Before you could process it fully, Spider-Man shot inside, a blur of red and blue, and then his arms were around you. You winced, pain shooting through your side as he hugged you tightly, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "Y/N, thank God! We were all so worried!"

For a moment, everything felt surreal—his warmth, the steady pressure of his arms around you, and the weight of relief that hung in the air. But the ache in your body reminded you that this wasn't just a moment of reunion. There were still the lingering effects of Venom's presence, the darkness that pulled at your soul. And Loki... you knew that his plans were far from over. The battle wasn't won yet.

But in this moment, you allowed yourself to hold on to the warmth, the comfort Spider-Man provided, the knowledge that your friends were here—alive, and still fighting. Even if the war was far from finished, they would stand by your side.

The door opened once more, and the Grandmaster floated in, his expression a mixture of disappointment and mild annoyance. His eyes, calculating and cold, swept over the scene, lingering on you before settling on the Collector. "You really cannot destroy yourself, pet," he said, the words laced with condescension as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. His gaze never wavered from the Collector as if expecting him to resume his role as the obedient follower.

But the Collector, to your surprise, didn't bow or cower. He stood, the air around him shifting with a quiet intensity. His face was stern, no longer the playful or calculating expression you were accustomed to seeing. "No, Grandmaster. It can't," he said, his voice low and resolute. "Y/N is hurt, and I'm done following your every whim."

The Grandmaster paused, his lip curling in an almost imperceptible sneer. He had always been accustomed to power, to control, and yet here, in his own ship, before his own brother, he faced an unexpected rebellion. For a moment, he simply stared at the Collector, as if weighing the consequences of his words.

The tension in the room thickened, and Spider-Man, still by your side, shifted uncomfortably, sensing the conflict building. You could feel the weight of the Grandmaster's displeasure, and yet, it was clear—his power over the Collector, over you, was slipping. The ground had shifted beneath them both, and the delicate balance of their twisted partnership was teetering on the edge.

"You think you can simply walk away?" The Grandmaster's voice was dangerously calm, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. He raised a hand, as if to remind everyone of his control, but the Collector didn't flinch. Neither did you.

It was clear now that things had changed. The Collector was no longer the passive player in this game. He had made his choice, and whatever came next, you would face it together.

The Grandmaster's tone shifted to a dangerous amusement, his lips curling into a grin. "He can," he repeated, voice dripping with condescension, "but I don't think you're in a position to make demands, pet." His eyes flicked over to you and Spider-Man before returning to the Collector. "This is between me and my brother."

His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled threat laced with authority, as though the room itself shrank beneath his power. The atmosphere felt like it was about to snap, taut and trembling with the weight of his arrogance.

Spider-Man tensed beside you, his body shifting as if ready to move at a moment's notice, sensing the looming storm. But you could feel it too—this moment, this clash between the Grandmaster and the Collector, could change everything. The control the Grandmaster once held over his brother was crumbling, and you realized just how much power had shifted in that one decisive moment.

The Collector didn't flinch, his expression still set with quiet defiance. He wasn't going to be swayed by the Grandmaster's usual games anymore. "This was between you and me, Grandmaster," the Collector's voice was steady, but there was a quiet resolve underneath, "but no longer. I choose who I stand with now."

The tension in the room was thick, as though the very air itself held its breath, waiting for what came next.

The Grandmaster rose to his feet with a slow, dramatic flourish, his hands waving in the air as if orchestrating the very fate of the room. "I release all the heroes and all the villains," he declared, his voice smooth yet carrying a finality that rang through the space. "You may go and live as you like." His gaze shifted to you and Spider-Man, and his words, though offered with an air of surrender, were no less commanding. "And I will stop collecting artifacts I cannot have joy over."

There was something almost final in his tone, as though he were throwing down his metaphorical cards and ending this twisted game once and for all. It was a decision that felt more like a concession, as though he were tired of the endless cycle of control, manipulation, and gamesmanship.

Before you or Spider-Man could fully react, a blinding flash of light erupted around you, swallowing everything whole. The world around you spun, everything dissolving into a blur of light and color. You felt yourself pulled, not in any tangible way, but like being swept away by the very force of the universe itself.

In an instant, you were gone—no trace left of the Grandmaster's ship, no remnants of the strange, alien med bay. All that remained was the sudden emptiness of nothingness, and then the undeniable sensation of home. You couldn't even process how, or where, you were now, but the familiar weight of Spider-Man's presence beside you was enough to ground you.

The Grandmaster's words still lingered in your mind, as did the strange sense of closure, though you knew that this was far from over. What came next was unknown, but the choices made here today—those decisions, the ones that had been taken from you before—would guide your path from this moment onward.