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You’d think that when you live for eternity, you’d learn to grow and change, but Stephen seemed to be the only god Tony knew who wouldn’t change.
But after all these millenia, Stephen was still out there, killing and turning men and women on each other, releasing plagues and destroying homes.
The gods had called together a council and had decided that this was enough.
Stephen had been given enough chances, enough opportunities to change, and he hadn’t.
Enough was enough.
And who better to send to kill off the fellow god than Tony, well known amongst gods and mortals for easily taking care of stuff like this, as a kind of hitman but on the side of good.
And so Tony found himself in a darkened alley, watching the cloaked god that stood nearby, laughing, unaware of the danger he was in.
Tony was skilled enough in magic and at his job that he was able to draw his sword noiselessly, and whoever had been talking to Stephen left without either of them noticing that anything was amiss.
The timing was right, but Tony hesitated, just for a moment, and that moment would cost him.
Stephen’s eyes flicked over the alleyway, halting on Tony; moonlight had reflected off of the hitman’s blade, and he had been spotted.
Throwing any plans he may have had aside, Tony drew himself up to his full height, holding his blade non-threateningly at his side.
“You’re here to kill me,” Stephen said, without a hint of emotion, nodding towards the sword in Tony’s grip.
“No,” Tony replied, shaking his head. “I’ve come to warn you. They intend to kill you. You must run. You must get away.”
Stephen took a half-pace back, glancing around warily. “You’re here to kill me,” he repeated.
“ No !” Tony dropped the sword, and it clattered noisily to the ground. “No, I’m not!”
A hint of surprise shone in the eyes of the fellow god, of his target , and Stephen stepped forward, carefully, deliberately.
“You're really not?” he murmured, aqua-blue eyes searching Tony’s own brown ones for a moment.
“I’m not,” Tony promised, and he felt himself get drawn forward into a desperate kiss.
For a moment, Tony allowed himself to kiss back, to get caught in the moment.
Then he unsheathed the knife strapped to his back, and stabbed it into Stephen’s gut.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against the other god’s lips, who had jerked back a little in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Stephen had fully stepped back now, his gaze full of shock and hurt, expression showing how betrayed he felt; then he crumpled to the ground, and fell still.
Tony wept, then, dropping to his knees and clutching the god’s body close to his chest, almost regretting what he’d done.
Almost.
But he’d saved countless lives, countless future lives, and that was much more important than any feelings he may have had for the villainous god who now lay dead in his arms.
Then, once his tears had dried, Tony pulled his knife free and picked up Stephen’s body.
He would take it to the other gods, as proof, then bury it properly, and with respect, as he had his other targets.
And he would never, ever, allow himself to love again.