"Earth..."
Faced with the question from the silver-helmed giant in heavy armor before him, Star-Lord did not answer immediately.
"Since I was eight years old, Yondu took me away from Earth. I haven't been back in almost thirty years... My mother died right in front of me..."
Beneath the gaudy glow of the bar's flashing advertisements, Star-Lord turned his head aside. His gaze fixed on the drink in his hand, as though he were reminiscing about something long buried.
"Who is Yondu? Your father? I understand. If you are reluctant to return to a place filled with painful memories, then give me Yondu's contact frequency. Or that of someone from his crew."
Master Chief John saw the grief and struggle written plainly across Star-Lord's face.
A veteran who had served in the UNSC Spartan forces, the Imperial Astartes Second Punishers Auxiliary, and later the Imperial Inquisition's mobile strike units, he was intimately familiar with that expression, that emotion.
How many soldiers, scarred by war and the searing loss of family and comrades, had chosen to avoid certain places. Places where they had once fought, trained, and lived shoulder to shoulder with those now gone. Afraid of memory. Afraid of the past.
Or perhaps he simply harbored doubt. Distrust.
"The commission is terminated. For the first half of the guarantee assignment, Mr. Quill's team performed admirably. This is the remaining payment after the barter—ten thousand credits."
Without further words, the tactful John turned, accepted the still-warm universal currency from his subordinate's briefcase, and with a clink placed the full amount—rectangular metal credit plates—onto the table, sliding them toward Rocket Raccoon.
After their brief interaction, he had already formed a rough impression. The so-called Guardians of the Galaxy—Star-Lord was the unreliable captain and spiritual figurehead. The little sapling was the mascot. Gamora and Drax were the primary combatants. This raccoon, however, seemed more like the real steward.
As for silencing them after squeezing out every last bit of value from the commission—he was not that deranged.
John had his own bottom line. I'm no good man, but I'm not some unprincipled terrorist either.
"A pleasure doing business, Guardians of the Galaxy. If you have future material trade opportunities, or if you acquire coordinates of unclaimed, exploitable planets, feel free to contact us."
Now that he had arrived on Xandar and gained more information channels within the Nova Empire, John had no intention of hanging himself from a single tree.
Choosing the Guardians had been partly because one of them was from Earth, and partly because they indeed carried weight on Xandar. Now that their influence had been utilized—and seeing Star-Lord's posture of not having returned to Earth in thirty years—John knew their continued involvement would not make much difference.
That was why, beyond trading weapons with them, he had also paid ten thousand credits. For a guarantee and guide task, this was absolutely a large sum. When Ronan the Accuser had once put a bounty on Star-Lord, it had only been forty thousand credits—and that involved the Orb of cosmic significance.
If not for the excessive spectacle of auctioning off an atmospheric incineration torpedo—risking a planet's surface turning to glass should defenses fail—such a guarantee mission would have cost only a thousand credits at most.
"Then, farewell."
John nodded to Rocket and the others to signal the end of their cooperation. He rose decisively, turning his back to the bar's blinding neon lights. The elongated shadow cast by his towering frame stretched like a dark cloud, enveloping the Guardians, each wearing a different expression.
"Wait. I can take you to Earth for free."
Star-Lord set down his glass. He stood as well, lifting his head to look at the silver-helmed giant before him.
John paused and turned slightly, tilting his head as if to say, go on.
Star-Lord drew a deep breath, as though about to step once more onto a land that had once broken his heart.
"Missouri... I don't care what you plan to do, but you absolutely cannot harm my family—my grandparents... I know I probably can't stop you, but I have my own connections too. Even something as small as a bug will fight back when cornered. Earth isn't as easy to conquer as you think."
He spoke the name of the state with solemn resolve. It was where he had been born, where he had spent eight years with his mother.
Nearly thirty years had passed. He did not know whether his grandfather was still alive, whether his relatives had moved away. But it was one of the few things he still remembered.
Then, subtly, he rose onto his toes and edged back a little—he still disliked having to look up while speaking. Stubbornly lifting his chin, he tried to meet the faint blue glow of Master Chief's visor at eye level, waiting for a response.
"Mr. Star-Lord, may I interpret that as a threat?"
Watching the small gesture, John found this man's way of thinking somewhat different from others.
"No! No! No! Not a threat—just advice. As half an Earthling who occasionally collects items that circulate out from Earth, I have a decent understanding of the situation there. Just a few years ago, aliens invaded Earth. They suffered heavy losses and were driven off in disgrace."
That answer caused John's eyes to brighten.
"Has Earth already entered the age of interstellar colonization?" he asked.
"Probably not... Lunar exploration, maybe close. There are limited contact channels with the outside. But Earth has super soldiers. Superheroes. The Howling Commandos. Captain America. The Avengers. Iron Man..."
Based on what he knew and had experienced, Star-Lord gestured as he spoke.
Quite a few aliens had visited Earth, and some Earthlings had ended up in space by chance. The Walkman, magazines, comics, and newspapers Star-Lord collected had spread outward that way. The information lagged far behind real time, but it existed.
"Very well."
After a moment's consideration, John nodded. "Due to my duties, I cannot give you a definitive answer. But understand this—if my forces are subjected to malicious threats or attacks, my soldiers will employ lethal force."
"That's good enough for me." Star-Lord clapped his hands in delight.
His grandparents were ordinary people, and as far as he remembered, they did not even live in New York. Proactively seeking trouble with a group of towering, heavily armored extraterrestrial giants pushing nearly three meters tall? Star-Lord considered it unlikely.
As long as these people were not like the so-called Mad Titan Thanos—slaughtering half a planet's life without reason—or like Ronan, ranting about destroying Xandar and killing all its people, Star-Lord's tolerance was high.
Colonial exploitation. Sustainable resource extraction. Strong-arm trade. Installing proxy governments. Collecting protection fees. All of it was normal.
That was the business he had been in.
In his view, it was only a matter of time before Earth drew the attention of cosmic powers.
In a place like Marvel, where it was all too easy to fall to darkness or go astray, the fact that he had grown up steady, without turning crooked—small mistakes aplenty, but never crossing a true moral line—founding the Guardians of the Galaxy, carrying a genuine hero complex... Yes, his private morals were flawed, but all things considered, he was still a good person. That was no small feat.
So long as he did not face something too extreme, Star-Lord would indeed do good and show empathy—but only within the limits of what he encountered and what he was capable of handling.
Otherwise, if one truly wanted to tally up the worst crimes in the universe, the three great cosmic empires—the Kree, the Shi'ar, and the Skrulls—would top the list. Each was steeped in blood debt. Why didn't Star-Lord go picking fights with them?
Thanos had only risen to power in the past millennium. People targeted him because he was too insane, too extreme. Anyone would fear him. He slaughtered half of a planet's population on first contact—more ruthless than drawing lots for execution.
"Beginning and ending things properly works for me. Let's go, Mr. Quill. Hopefully our cooperation proceeds without incident."
Before Star-Lord could react, John reached out and pressed a hand onto his shoulder, giving it a calm pat. Then he strode out of the private bar booth first. Under the awed and evasive gazes of red- and green-skinned alien servers, he exited the establishment.
"You're strong as hell..."
Rubbing his shoulder repeatedly—those few pats had nearly compressed his spine—Star-Lord muttered in complaint. Then he called out, "Alright, guys, let's move. Destination—Earth."
"Quill's hometown? Nice. We made a killing—consider it a vacation," Rocket laughed broadly, pocketing the credits and dragging Groot away from his video game before hopping down from his seat.
"Have you really let go of it?" Gamora asked softly as they walked side by side out of the bar.
"Yeah. It's time to go back. Running away won't solve anything," Star-Lord replied, voice low.
His adoptive father Yondu had died saving him on Ego's planet. His biological father Ego was dead as well. The only family he had left was probably his grandfather on Earth. If the old man was still alive, this might be his last chance.
In truth, only a thin wall remained between him and breaking through the childhood obsession he had avoided for so long. One final push, and he would return.
In the original timeline, it had been Thanos. After losing Gamora, he had grown despondent, wanting to clear his head—returning to Earth to face everything and let go of certain burdens. Now, it was Master Chief's arrival. The pretext of leading them to Earth had given Star-Lord that push. He might as well go back and take a look.
Besides, without him as guide, this was Xandar. There were plenty of channels. Rather than letting someone else take the opportunity, better to build a favor.
"Star-Lord."
A voice called out, pulling him back to reality. Looking up, he saw golden Nova Corps energy fighters hovering in midair, along with several fully armed Nova Corps squads. He recognized the leader.
"Your giant friends have caused us quite a headache," the man said, watching Master Chief's group depart with lingering unease. "A planet-killer bomb—selling something like that. If it had fallen into a madman's hands..."
Clearly, the atmospheric incineration torpedo had been purchased by the Nova Empire itself.
Star-Lord understood immediately. Waggling his brows, he said, "As long as they're good guys for now. By the way, did you find out? Which faction lost that torpedo?"
"None of them. Its design and system architecture match nothing we know. They're not thieves. That planet-killer bomb may very well be their own creation... Troubled times."
Unlike cracking a planet through concentrated fleet bombardment or by the sheer power of an individual, a planet-destroying bomb with no operator or environmental restrictions was absolutely a controlled weapon among the major empires. It almost never circulated on the open market. Any force lacking sufficient scale and foundation simply could not possess one.
The galactic heavyweights would never allow it. Otherwise, once someone's planet got blown apart, everyone would lose face.
"So they're interstellar arms dealers..." Star-Lord muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing. Catch up next time! I've got another commission."
...
After the Nova Corps solemnly escorted the so-called Divine Empress Order away from Xandar's orbit as though sending off a plague, John directed the shuttle and more than a dozen fully loaded transport ships back toward the strike cruiser fleet hidden beyond the star's far side.
"Cortana. Verify the coordinates of the Solar System. Update the star charts. Upload the data into the central nexus..."
Back on the bridge after parting with Star-Lord and the others, John addressed the blue holographic woman who appeared before him.
Every universe differed slightly. Blindly copying data often led one astray. That was precisely why he needed navigational recalibration. He could revise everything manually, but that would take too long. Since he had reached Xandar—where information and manpower could be purchased—there was no need to overcomplicate matters.
"Understood," Cortana responded.
"Order deck crews to categorize the supplies. Convert and replenish nutrient solutions."
John issued instructions in steady succession.
"All units are to continue nutritional replenishment. Maintain training cycles. Enter nutrient pods for dormancy when required. Do not concern yourselves with resource expenditure. The funds obtained from the atmospheric incineration torpedo leave a substantial balance. The acquired supplies can sustain them for a standard Imperial capital quarter."
"Notify the Guardians of the Galaxy to lead the way."
"Cortana, inform the kitchen to prepare my meal. Double rations."
"..."
Exhaling slowly, John settled into his commander's seat. The stabbing pain was beginning to return.
As Cortana injected fresh high-density nutrient solution into his power pack, he swiped across the console, updating the mission log.
The most pressing tasks were twofold. First, determine the detailed political landscape within this universe—wandering like a headless fly was not an option. Second, stabilize their growth and prepare for prolonged independent operations deep behind enemy lines.
Traveling to the Solar System was a crucial component of that long-term plan.
They needed comprehensive data on the Solar System's conditions, as well as Earth's population, technological level, industrial capacity, and overall development.
On one hand, most of the fleet's soldiers and crew were still in critical phases of multiple evolutions. They urgently required a relatively stable environment and vast amounts of food and medical resources. A sustainable supply base was essential. Endless purchasing alone would not suffice.
On the other hand, John intended to recruit new personnel.
Extraordinary times called for flexibility. If there were no official establishment slots, then so be it. Weapons and equipment were plentiful—more than enough to expand with some artillery... new recruits. Once the situation stabilized and contact with the Imperial core was reestablished, they could be formalized.
As for whether to fully occupy Earth, dismantle its existing governance, or cooperate with local powers—using it as a critical supply hub and intelligence node—that would depend on circumstances.
"Earth..." he murmured.
Soon, the Demon Adjudicator fleet synchronized acceleration with the coordinates and jump frequencies provided by the Guardians of the Galaxy, entering warp space.
Vrrrr—
The prototype command console housing the shipborne AI core suddenly flickered, as if suffering from poor contact. At its center, the Honkai Cube erupted with a scorching violet-red radiance.
Fluid tendrils extended outward, weaving the intricate patterns of a hexagram magic array. It flickered and swayed gently. Against the shimmering distortions of space-time beyond the warp viewport, it resembled a living, flowing galaxy.
"What is this?!"
John shot to his feet.
Within the dazzling light—aside from the ice-blue silhouette formed by condensed Honkai magic particles—the most eye-catching sight was...
A shining bald head?
...
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Earth. Kamar-Taj.
"Eternity?!"
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