Yondu was smart enough to listen when Marcus spoke. After all, when your whistle arrow—the weapon you'd relied on for decades to stay alive—started vibrating uncontrollably in the presence of someone, that was a pretty clear message about where you stood in the space food chain.
He knew exactly what that meant. His whistle arrow wasn't just failing to lock onto Marcus as a target; it was actively recoiling from him, like it was afraid. In all his years as a Ravager, Yondu had never encountered anyone or anything that could make his arrow behave like that. The implications were crystal clear: not only would his most trusted weapon be useless against this pale human, it would probably shatter the moment he tried to use it.
"Alright, boys," Yondu called out to his crew, his voice carrying the kind of authority that came from decades of keeping space pirates in line. "You heard the man. We're businessmen here, not thugs."
He started straightening his long coat, removing the more intimidating bits of his outfit—the spiked shoulder guards, the skull decorations, the various trophies from past raids. One by one, his crew followed suit. Weapons were holstered, threatening accessories were tucked away, and gradually the group of fearsome space pirates transformed into something that looked more like... well, still space pirates, but space pirates who were trying really hard to look respectable.
Within minutes, the entire Ravager crew had gone from looking like they could raid a space station without breaking a sweat to appearing almost civilized. Yondu himself now looked less like a predator and more like a businessman—albeit one with a distinctive blue mohawk and way too many scars to be completely trustworthy.
Of course, the calculating gleam in his eyes was still there. You couldn't change decades of survival instincts with a simple wardrobe adjustment.
Queen Adora watched this transformation with growing understanding. These weren't conquerors looking to claim territory or ideological fanatics trying to spread their beliefs. They were mercenaries, plain and simple, and mercenaries could be reasoned with.
"Pay them their commission," she ordered one of her Nova Corps centurions.
The centurion stepped forward with a credit transfer device, and within moments the Ravagers' faces lit up with genuine joy. Forty thousand credits was serious money in this part of the galaxy—enough to upgrade their ship, restock their supplies, and maybe even take a vacation on one of the pleasure planets in the neutral zones.
While his crew celebrated their payday, Yondu's attention turned to Star-Lord, his weathered face shifting into an expression that was equal parts fondness and exasperation.
"Quill," he said, extending his hand. "Where's that little item we discussed?"
"Uh... right here!" Star-Lord pulled the orb from his jacket, holding it up for Yondu to see.
The sphere looked exactly like it had when they'd first retrieved it from Morag, but Star-Lord's expression suggested there was more to the story. He'd found the container in a corner of the Dark Aster after the battle, presumably where it had been knocked loose during all the fighting. The Power Stone was long gone—safely in Marcus's possession—but Yondu had only asked for the orb itself.
Since Yondu hadn't specified what needed to be inside the orb, Star-Lord had taken some creative liberties with the contents. Instead of a space artifact of ultimate destruction, the sphere now contained something much more personal: a medal he'd carried since childhood, a small token from Earth that he'd kept as one of his few connections to his home world.
It wasn't much, but it was his way of saying thank you to the blue-skinned bastard who'd raised him, taught him to survive, and kept him alive when most of the galaxy would have killed him without a second thought.
"Hand it over," Yondu said, though his tone was gentler than his words suggested.
Star-Lord tossed the orb across the space between them. Yondu caught it easily, and immediately his crew started grinning and cheering. This was Ravager tradition—successful completion of a job meant everyone got to celebrate.
Yondu didn't open the sphere, even though his crew was clearly curious about its contents. As someone who'd raised Star-Lord from childhood, he probably knew the kid better than anyone else in the galaxy. He'd seen the state of the Dark Aster, had watched the aftermath of the battle. The Power Stone was obviously no longer in the orb.
But more than that, he understood what Star-Lord was really giving him. This wasn't about fulfilling a contract anymore; this was about family. And even if it was a complicated, dysfunctional, often violent family, it was still family.
By not opening the orb in front of his crew, Yondu was sending a message: even his adopted son couldn't break Ravager rules. It was a show of respect for both Star-Lord's gesture and the traditions that had kept them all alive this long.
"Quill," Yondu said, his voice carrying decades of rough affection, "I better not hear about you turning into a pile of space junk before we meet again!"
"Hahaha!" The Ravager crew erupted in laughter at their captain's traditional farewell insult.
With that, Yondu turned and walked back toward his ship, his crew falling in behind him. But just before he reached the boarding ramp, he glanced back at Star-Lord one more time.
"Take care of yourself, boy," he said quietly, and for just a moment the gruff space pirate exterior cracked enough to show the genuine concern underneath. "Galaxy's a dangerous place. You got good people watching your back now, but that don't mean you should get careless."
Then he was gone, disappeared into his ship with his crew, leaving Star-Lord staring after him with a complicated expression that mixed frustration, affection, and something that might have been homesickness.
After the Ravagers had departed, Queen Adora approached Marcus and the newly formed team with a formal, grateful bearing. She stopped a few feet away and offered them a deep, respectful bow.
"Thank you," she said, her voice carrying the weight of genuine gratitude. "All of you. Because of your intervention, Xandar was saved from complete destruction."
Adora's eyes moved from Marcus to the Guardians, taking in their eclectic appearance with something that might have been amusement. "I don't know exactly what you accomplished aboard the Dark Aster, but the fact that you returned with Marcus tells me you played a crucial role in our victory."
She gestured to the Nova Corps centurion beside her. "Your criminal records have been expunged. You're welcome on Xandar anytime—though I'd prefer if your next visit didn't involve quite so much... excitement."
Rocket's ears perked up at this. "So if someone else has something that belongs to me, I can just take it back? You know, since I'm a hero now and all?"
"Absolutely not," the centurion replied firmly. "Unless you engage in legitimate trade negotiations with the current owner."
"But it's really important to me!" Rocket protested, his tail bristling with indignation.
"That doesn't matter. If you want to pursue the matter, you can explain your case to a judge in our civil courts."
"Aw, this is boring!" Rocket threw his paws up in disgust. "Save the whole planet and they won't even let me repo my own stuff! What's the point of being a hero if you don't get any perks?"
"I am Groot," Groot added helpfully.
"Yeah, I know you think the real reward is friendship and justice and all that fuzzy stuff," Rocket grumbled. "But I was really hoping for some practical benefits here."
Marcus watched this exchange with growing amusement. These misfits were definitely something special—chaotic, irreverent, and completely unpredictable, but genuinely committed to doing the right thing when it mattered. It was exactly the kind of team the galaxy needed, even if they didn't know it yet.
Of course, Star-Lord's reputation for attracting trouble with extremely powerful and personal stakes wasn't exactly subtle. The kid had a gift for making enemies out of cosmic-level threats who also happened to have complicated family connections to him. His biological father, his adoptive father, his girlfriend's father... it was like he collected dysfunctional parental figures the way other people collected vintage music.
"You know," Marcus said thoughtfully, "you guys fight pretty well together for a group that just met. Very... protective. Very galactic. Are you planning to make this a regular thing?"
The five of them—Star-Lord, Gamora, Drax, Rocket, and Groot—looked at each other with expressions that ranged from surprise to consideration to something that might have been hope.
"I mean," Star-Lord said slowly, "we do work pretty well together. And it's not like any of us really have anywhere else to be."
"Speak for yourself," Rocket muttered, but he didn't sound like he really meant it.
"I have nowhere to go," Drax stated matter-of-factly. "My family is dead, my world is gone. But with you, I have found something like purpose again."
"I am Groot."
"Yeah, buddy, I feel the same way," Rocket said, his tone softer than usual.
Gamora was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "For the first time in my life, I'm not running from something or toward revenge. Maybe... maybe it would be good to run toward something positive instead."
Star-Lord grinned, and suddenly he looked years younger. "So we're really doing this? We're really going to be a team?"
"Seems like it," Gamora said, and she was smiling too.
"Then we need a name," Drax declared. "All great warriors have names that strike fear into their enemies."
"I am Groot," Groot added.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Actually, I had a suggestion for that. How about... the Guardians of the Galaxy?"
The name seemed to resonate with all of them immediately. Star-Lord straightened up, his chest puffing out with pride. "Guardians of the Galaxy," he repeated, testing how it sounded. "I like it. It's got a nice ring to it."
"It sounds appropriately heroic," Drax nodded approvingly.
"I am Groot!"
"Groot likes it too," Rocket translated. "And I guess... yeah, it works. Guardians of the Galaxy it is."
They stood there for a moment, this unlikely collection of misfits who had somehow become a family, all grinning at each other like they'd just discovered something wonderful.
Queen Adora watched this moment with obvious appreciation, then turned her attention back to Marcus. "What about you? Where will you go now that Ronan has been dealt with?"
Marcus looked up at the Dark Aster floating in the sky above them, its twisted hull looking like some kind of abstract sculpture made from destruction and bad intentions.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "Ronan was pretty confident about the superiority of Kree strength and Kree technology. I'm curious to see what the Kree Empire is really made of."
The temperature in the immediate area seemed to drop several degrees. Queen Adora's eyes widened as she processed the implications of what Marcus had just said.
"You're planning to invade the Kree Empire?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Invade is such an ugly word," Marcus replied with a casual shrug. "I prefer to think of it as... tourism."
He was being flip about it, but the truth was more complex. Marcus was genuinely interested in the Supreme Intelligence, the artificial consciousness that ruled the entire Kree civilization. The idea of studying such an advanced AI, possibly even incorporating its technologies into his own systems, was incredibly appealing.
But he also had standards. Unlike the Kree Empire, which had built its civilization on conquest and subjugation, Xandar had actually tried to use its power responsibly. The Nova Corps could have easily become a galactic police force that imposed its will on weaker civilizations, but instead they'd focused on diplomacy, peacekeeping, and mutual cooperation.
The Xandarians weren't perfect—no civilization was—but they were trying to be better. That was more than could be said for most galactic powers.
The Kree Empire, on the other hand, had spent centuries destroying entire worlds to expand their territory. They were exactly the kind of civilization that the galaxy would be better off without.
"This is..." Queen Adora struggled to find words. "This is an incredibly dangerous undertaking. Are you certain you want to proceed?"
Marcus smiled, and there was something in that expression that made even the battle-hardened Nova Corps centurions take an unconscious step backward.
"Dangerous?" he repeated, as if the concept was foreign to him. "Queen Adora, I spent more time fighting Ronan than I needed to because I wanted to capture his ship intact as a trophy. If I'd been serious about ending the fight quickly..."
He let the sentence hang in the air, but everyone present could fill in the blanks.
"If that's the case," Adora said carefully, "then I suppose there's no point in trying to dissuade you."
"Probably not," Marcus agreed cheerfully. "But I appreciate the concern."
Three days later...
A sleek, unmanned shuttle that looked like it had been designed by someone with a very different aesthetic sense than most galactic civilizations cut through the void of deep space. the Astro Cruise Despite being completely automated, the ship moved with obvious purpose, following a course that would take it deep into Kree territory.
A spark portal suddenly opened in the ship's main cabin, and Marcus stepped through from whatever distant location he'd been visiting.
"Tony," he called out to the empty air, "keep an eye on the Dark Aster for me. I don't want to come back and find out you've turned it into another one of your father's biosphere experiments."
Tony's voice came through the ship's communication system with a slight delay that suggested he was speaking from very far away. "Don't worry about it! The old man's way too busy with our current project to start playing with your new toy."
Marcus nodded, satisfied with the response. Tony and Howard were deep into their research on adapting Nova Corps technology for Earth's defense. They were working on ultra-long-distance energy transmission and network linking systems that would allow them to create something like a human version of the Nova Corps.
It was ambitious work that required their full attention, especially since they'd brought in a team of carefully selected SHIELD researchers to help with the more mundane aspects of the project. Fury had been more than happy to provide additional manpower, especially for a project that might give Earth a real chance of defending itself against cosmic-level threats.
Howard's identity was being kept strictly secret from the SHIELD team, of course. As far as they knew, they were working with an anonymous benefactor who had somehow acquired incredibly advanced alien technology. It was better for everyone if they didn't know they were actually collaborating with a man who was supposed to have died decades ago.
"Good," Marcus said, closing the portal with a casual wave. "Because I'm about to make contact with the Kree Empire, and I'd rather not have any distractions."
He settled into the pilot's chair, though the ship was perfectly capable of flying itself. Outside the viewports, space looked exactly the same as it always did—black, empty, filled with distant stars that might as well have been decorative lights.
"Supreme Intelligence," he murmured to himself, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's been more than twenty years. I wonder if Carol's still hanging around."
"Commander," came Orr's voice through the ship's speakers, "we're approaching the final jump node."
Marcus felt the ship's engines shift to a higher power level as they prepared for the transition into Kree space. "How long until we arrive?"
"Estimated time to destination: forty-seven minutes."
"Perfect." Marcus leaned back in his chair, watching the stars outside begin to blur and shift as the ship's jump drive engaged. "Let's go meet the neighbors."
The transition through jumpspace was always a surreal experience—reality twisted and warped around the ship, colors that had no names painted impossible geometries against the not-quite-darkness of folded space. But Marcus had traveled through stranger dimensions than this. The Void had shown him things that would drive most people insane just thinking about them.
When the ship finally dropped back into normal space, they were in Kree territory.
The first thing Marcus noticed was how different this region of space felt compared to Xandar's. Where Xandar space had felt open and welcoming, with clearly marked shipping lanes and friendly navigation beacons, Kree space felt hostile and unwelcoming. There were patrol ships everywhere, sensor nets scanning for unauthorized intrusions, and an overall atmosphere of paranoid militarism.
The second thing he noticed was the Kree patrol ship that was already moving to intercept them, its weapons charging for combat.
"Wow," Marcus said mildly, watching the hostile ship approach. "Such a warm welcome. No wonder everyone they train ends up choosing to destroy civilizations."
The Kree ship was clearly preparing to attack first and ask questions later—if they bothered with questions at all. Its main cannons were glowing with accumulated energy, and its flight pattern suggested it was positioning for a killing shot rather than a warning shot.
Marcus stood up from his chair and walked toward the ship's airlock. "This seems like a perfect opportunity to test the full empowerment of the Power Stone. Let's see just how far Vauban's abilities can be pushed now."
He triggered his transformation, his human form dissolving into the complex geometries and mechanical precision of his Vauban Warframe. But this time was different—purple energy from the Power Stone coursed through the frame's systems, enhancing and amplifying every function.
Then he simply stepped outside the ship, standing in the vacuum of space as casually as if he were taking a walk in a park.
On the Kree patrol ship, the crew was having a very different kind of experience.
"What the hell is that?" demanded the ship's captain, a blue-skinned Kree with the kind of scars that spoke of many successful battles.
"Some kind of primitive single-person craft," reported the sensor operator. "Definitely not Kree design. Probably belongs to one of those newly spacefaring species."
"Perfect," said the weapons officer with undisguised glee. "It's been weeks since we've had target practice on actual living beings. This should be fun."
The weapons officer was a particularly unpleasant example of Kree superiority complex. He'd once spent an entire day slowly lowering captured prisoners into molten metal, just to hear the different sounds they made when they died. He considered it a form of artistic expression.
"Let's see how pretty their ship looks when it's scattered across a few thousand kilometers of space," the captain said with a predatory grin.
They fired their main cannon—a devastating energy beam that could punch through most starship hulls like they were made of paper.
The beam shot toward Marcus's ship with lethal intent... and then suddenly twisted in midair, converging on a single point just in front of the pale figure standing impossibly in the vacuum of space.
"What the..." the captain started to say.
Marcus caught the energy beam in his hand like he was catching a baseball. Purple power from the Stone merged with the captured energy, amplifying and redirecting it according to his will.
"You know," Marcus said, his voice somehow carrying clearly across the vacuum to the Kree ship's communication systems, "I was actually planning to be diplomatic about this. But since you've decided to be rude..."
He smiled, and even through the vacuum and the distance, that smile was clearly visible to the Kree crew.
"Let me return the favor."
The energy that had been their own cannon blast came screaming back at them with twice the power and three times the accuracy. The last thing the Kree crew saw was their own weapon's signature energy beam, now glowing with an ominous purple enhancement, filling their forward viewscreen.