At this moment, Star-Lord—who had been sprawled on the ground like yesterday's laundry—slowly opened his eyes and stared around blankly.
The last thing he remembered was the feeling of being shot straight through the chest… and then, well, dying. Very vividly dying.
So why was he back on the ground again, breathing and everything?
He pushed himself up and instinctively grabbed his chest. Sure enough, there was a massive hole torn through his raider uniform, the fabric charred and ragged around the edges.
…Yeah. Definitely not a dream.
"So if I really died," he muttered under his breath, "what the hell just happened?"
No memories surfaced. Just a big, frustrating blank. Before he could piece things together, a sharp whistling sound ripped through the air above him.
Whoosh—BOOM!
Something slammed into the ground about ten meters ahead. The impact kicked up a violent blast of wind and debris, and Star-Lord was thrown backward, stumbling like a drunk who'd missed a step.
By the time he regained his balance and the dust settled, his eyes widened.
A huge crater yawned open in front of him. Standing at its center was a Kree, gripping a heavy hammer, posture tense and eyes full of alert hostility.
Star-Lord swallowed.
"…Did that guy just fall out of the sky?"
My God. That kind of drop should've turned anyone into space jam. Just how absurdly tough was this thing?
Heart pounding, Star-Lord immediately backed away, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Kree radiating pure danger.
Unfortunately, luck was clearly not on his side today.
Movement stirred behind him.
Nebula emerged from the cave with a squad of her men, their expressions dark and irritated.
"Damn it," one of them spat. "There's nothing inside."
Nebula's gaze landed on Star-Lord. She paused, clearly confused by the hole in his clothes—but the confusion didn't last long. She raised her machine gun and marched toward him.
"Kid," she said coldly, "did you take the Power Stone?"
As she spoke, the weapon began charging with a sharp mechanical hum.
Unlike her more… sentimentally flawed sister, Nebula had never been big on mercy. Killing strangers didn't even register as a moral event for her—just another task checked off the list.
Star-Lord, meanwhile, was very close to crying.
What kind of cursed universe was this?
Why did this job have to be this dangerous?
If he'd known, no amount of money would've convinced him to come. And because of it, Barrett was dead.
The thought hit him hard, and something snapped.
The anger surged up fast, burning away his usual flippant grin and lazy swagger. Star-Lord might act like a reckless show-off most of the time, but when it came to his companions, he was dead serious. Loyal to the bone.
Barrett's death had hit him right where it hurt.
Nebula noticed his silence and frowned. Her patience ran out.
She pulled the trigger.
Whoosh!
The shot missed.
Not because she hesitated—but because Star-Lord moved. At the instant she fired, he shifted sharply to the right, the blast streaking past where his head had been a split second earlier.
Nebula's eyes widened.
"How is that possible?"
The electromagnetic gun fired at over five thousand meters per second. Even she couldn't dodge it. And yet this human—who looked like he'd lose a fistfight with gravity—had slipped past it.
Ronan, who had been preparing to intervene, stopped instead, his eyes flickering with interest. He'd deliberately let Nebula test him first, unsure of Star-Lord's true strength.
Nebula fired again. And again.
Each shot missed.
Star-Lord's movements were erratic, unpredictable—almost instinctive. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them.
He's going for a hostage.
Nebula reacted instantly, tossing aside the machine gun and drawing a dagger, ready for close combat.
But Star-Lord moved like he'd flipped a hidden switch.
He dodged her strike, seized her arm, and in one smooth motion yanked out his pistol, slamming it against her temple.
The sudden reversal stunned everyone.
All around them, Dark Order warriors snapped their weapons up, dozens of muzzles locking onto Star-Lord's head.
The air went deathly still.
However, with Nebula blocking the path like a living shield, no one dared to fire the first shot.
"Anyone who doesn't want her dead," Star-Lord barked, tightening his grip, "drop your weapons. Now."
Inside Sanctuary II, Thanos watched the standoff unfold on the massive holographic display. His expression didn't change much—just the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his lips.
"Stand down," he said calmly. "Put your weapons away."
Nebula's life meant very little to him, but there was no sense wasting assets over a pointless sacrifice.
The Black Order reacted instantly. Weapons clattered to the ground one after another, metal hitting stone in a sharp, echoing chorus.
Nebula's eyes went wide with fury.
"You despicable bastard!" she snarled, twisting against Star-Lord's hold. "If you have any honor at all, let me go! Fight me properly!"
The humiliation burned hotter than the fear. Kidnapped. Used. Reduced to leverage. For the first time in a long while, a dark, treacherous thought crossed her mind—maybe it would be better to die than to be seen like this.
Star-Lord ignored her completely.
His gaze was locked on Ronan in the distance, wary and razor-sharp. He didn't know how he'd suddenly become this strong, but instinct screamed at him that everyone else here combined was less dangerous than that one man.
Ronan felt it too.
This had not gone according to plan. Nebula was supposed to probe the enemy, test his limits. Instead, she'd become a liability in under ten seconds.
Annoyance flickered across Ronan's face as he stepped forward.
Nebula herself was expendable—but her father was watching from the sky. And if Nebula died here, there was no telling how Thanos would choose to express his displeasure.
That was a gamble Ronan had no interest in taking.
"Release her," Ronan said coldly, his voice carrying easily across the battlefield. "I'll give you a fair fight."
Star-Lord's arm tightened around Nebula's neck. He shook his head, lips curling into something sharp and ugly.
"One minute," he said. "Bring me the ones who destroyed my ship… or I kill her."
There was no bravado in his voice. Just raw, unfiltered intent. Barrett was dead, and at that moment, revenge was the only thing keeping him upright.
Ronan glanced up at the sky, jaw clenched.
His forces were there—but they weren't his to command. Every ship, every soldier belonged to Thanos.
Then, almost on cue, a craft descended through the clouds. Its engines roared before cutting off abruptly. The hatch opened, and five humanoid warriors of the Black Order leapt down, landing in perfect unison.
Thanos had answered the demand.
Star-Lord's eyes lit up—not with relief, but with realization. The hostage in his grasp suddenly felt a lot more valuable.
He raised his blaster and fired.
"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!"
Five shots. Five bodies collapsing almost simultaneously, hitting the ground like discarded mannequins.
Star-Lord frowned.
He couldn't see their faces beneath the helmets, but something was off. No hesitation. No reaction. They met death without so much as a flinch.
Not normal.
In that split second of distraction, Nebula moved.
She drove her elbow backward with everything she had.
Star-Lord barely managed to bring his arms up in time, the impact rattling through his bones. Nebula tore free and sprinted forward, boots scraping hard against the ground as she put distance between them.
Star-Lord snapped his pistol up to fire again—
And Ronan stepped in front of her.
"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh…"
The shots slammed into Ronan's chest.
They punched clean through his cloak and left smoking holes in his armor—but he didn't slow. Didn't stagger. Didn't even blink.
Star-Lord froze.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
The upgraded Ravager blaster in his hand had dropped war beasts and armored troops alike… and this man had walked through it like rain.
Star-Lord swallowed.
He had never, in all his travels, faced something this terrifying.
.....
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