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Consuming, convoluting, rupturing and rapturous.
Could he honestly say it was only the touch of Thanos that unwound him? Like twine unfurling until it spun in the opposite direction. He was backwards, he knew it, taught with unbridled madness. He didn't have to look deep to know it was inherent, the way he continued to unfold. These were layers he'd not known he had. Unasked for and unanswered.
Perhaps it was true, then: he was a monster. Why else would he willingly set forth unto his downfall? He wasn't stumbling through these misdeeds, he was flourishing... making a production out of it.
Did he want to stop?
He did hate Thor as much as he loved him. He didn't care for humans more than ants under his boot. He had to do this either way. He didn't think about it though, just did. Just... did. But he always thought...
Everything, everything was already in motion. Not just this. All of it. He'd never get away from this. He was drowning in his own purpose. Why was he meant for this? He didn't think about it. Just did.
People dying. Good. Believable. Looking for the way out, it had to be there eventually. And he was patient, so very patient.
The end would be sweet, because it would stop it all. Let him rest. Let him breath. He'd burn them all and then he'd burn himself. He'd finish it.
Deluded, devolving, suffocating and sinister.