The sky burned violet and the throne room breathed like a living wound.
Nova ships cut through the clouds in tight, desperate formations, energy trails painting the heavens like falling comets. The Dark Aster hung above Xandar's capital like a blade waiting to drop, its engines thundering with the pulse of the Power Stone. While pulses of violet light ran through the black stone walls of the room, feeding into the dais where Ronan stood—hammer planted beside him, the Power Stone burning inside its head like a captured star.
Ronan's hammer pulsed with the Power Stone's glow. The Guardians formed a loose circle. Max stepped forward on instinct. Ronan's gaze locked on him after sweeping through the Guardians in slight disdain. For a heartbeat, the battle noise seemed to die — just the two of them, relics of old wars.
"You." His voice cut like a blade. "I know that face."
Max faltered. "What—?"
Ronan descended from the dais, each footfall cracking the floor. "You were there—years ago. A prince playing at rebellion. An exile meddling under the banner of a false king. You and the Pretender's fleet defied the Kree Accords. I should have crushed you then."
Max's heart slammed against his ribs. A prince?
Images flashed — fractured memories, half static, half fire: starfleets clashing over crimson skies, the banners of Spartax and Kree burning together; a silver-crowned man laughing beside him, raising a glass amid the chaos, golden armour.
Ronan's younger face snarling across a holoscreen. A treaty shattering. Then darkness. Max staggered back, clutching his skull.
Then—nothing. The image broke apart like shattered glass, and pain screamed through his skull. "I… I don't remember—"
Ronan sneered, lifting the hammer. "Convenient. Perhaps the Collector's cages stripped you of more than your freedom. Perhaps they stripped you of your shame." His sneer changed into a cold smile. "Then let me remind you."
He raised the hammer. The Power Stone flared.
The blast hit like a hurricane; purple energy slammed into the floor, hurling Drax and Gamora into the walls. Metal screamed. The dais exploded into shards.
Max reacted without thinking—his own light bursting out, blue-white arcs spiraling around his hands as he caught the wave mid-air. The opposing energies met with a roar that split the chamber. Lightning of two colors—violet and silver—clashed, spiraling through the vaulted ceiling.
Steel's fractured voice crackled in Max's head an echo of a memory unremembered:
^Max—focus—he'll overload the core—^
"I'm trying!" Max shouted through clenched teeth.
Ronan strode forward, every swing of the hammer collapsing another support pillar. "You wield power you cannot control, prince of ghosts! You defied me once—now I will unmake you!"
The floor gave way beneath them. Gravity twisted. They fell—then slammed against the slanted wall as the ship tilted. The Stone's radiation rippled like thunder.
Gamora sprinted up the incline, leaping toward Ronan, but he caught her blade on the hammer's haft and flung her aside. Peter fired both blasters, the shots ricocheting uselessly against Ronan's armour.
Rocket clung to a railing, yelling, "Anytime you wanna stop glowing and start winning, Max!"
Max staggered to his feet. His veins blazed with light, every pulse syncing with the Stone's. The same frequency. The same power—only… cleaner. He lifted his hand, and the air itself bent, drawing energy from the ship's bleeding conduits.
Ronan's eyes widened a fraction. "Impossible—"
Max thrust his palm forward.
The blast met Ronan's swing head-on. For a moment the colors fused—violet devouring blue, blue devouring violet—until the chamber erupted in white.
When the light died, both stood panting amid molten metal. Max dropped to one knee, smoke rising from his skin. The Power Stone dimmed, flickering like a tired heart. Ronan's sneer returned, forced but still defiant.
"What are you?" he hissed.
Max's answer came ragged, half-breath, half-memory. "Someone who's not done paying for what he's forgotten."
Ronan raised the hammer again, desperate now—but before he could strike, the Milano crashed through the hull, cannons blazing. The impact hurled them apart. The Power Stone's glow surged, destabilizing the ship's core.
Peter grabbed Max, dragging him toward the exit. "Move, Glowboy! Ship's about to blow!"
Behind them, Ronan's roar echoed through the collapsing hall. "You can flee, exile—but your past will find you!"
The Guardians dove into the Milano as the Dark Aster began its death-spiral toward Xandar's surface.
Through the viewport, violet fire consumed the horizon.
Max watched silently, the reflected light dancing in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he saw another explosion—another world, another fall—and a crown of silver melting away in the same color.
Peter's hand landed on his shoulder. "Hey. You with us?"
Max exhaled, the glow in his veins fading to a steady pulse. "Yeah," he said softly. "For now."