The clash between Malrick and Captain Marvel blazed across every screen on Earth, broadcast live through Jarvis's satellite network. From living room televisions to streaming sites, from massive billboards in crowded city squares to the tiny screens of commuters' phones, the world watched.
A father chopping vegetables froze, his cleaver hovering midair. A drowsy student on the subway jolted upright, eyes widening. Rushed footsteps halted in the middle of crosswalks.
"It's Superman!" someone gasped, their voice cutting through the hush of awe.
While the public's eyes were fixed on Malrick, Nick Fury's gaze burned with disbelief. "This is impossible. How could he beat Carol?" Even mid-interrogation, Fury pushed back his chair and blurted, "Motherf—!" before catching himself.
Far from the interrogation room, military leaders and heads of state traded tense glances. "Who is that woman? I want everything on her—three minutes, no excuses," barked General Thaddeus Ross, fresh from the military court and still radiating his trademark authority.
On the feed, the battle seemed almost restrained. At their blinding speed, it looked less like a brutal brawl and more like two fighter jets weaving through a dense layer of clouds—precise, lethal, and impossibly fast. The cameras caught only a blur of golden light hurtling forward with punches that broke the limits of human perception, until Malrick's hand clamped around her wrist and—one devastating punch later—she was sent hurtling down.
It would have looked like a one-sided beating to the untrained eye, but Jarvis overlaid speed readings and engagement data directly on the feed. Without those annotations, the world might have believed Malrick was preying on the weak.
Online and in living rooms, the debate ignited. "Punch speed over Mach 700? That can't be real!" "Who is this woman, and why is she helping the Skrulls?" "I work at a space agency—our simulations confirm it. Her speed's legit." "Good thing he stopped her… but how strong is he really?" "Depends which version of Superman you read in the comics." "We can't resist him if he goes full dictator." "Watch your mouth, heretic! You slander the Trinity Superman again and I'll—" The noise on Earth was deafening.
In space, aboard the Skrull fleet, silence reigned. Every ship had been monitoring the fight. The outcome would determine their next move—and possibly their future.
Talos, commander of the Skrulls, had started the broadcast confident. Carol Danvers, feared across galaxies and known to some as the Annihilator, should have been able to crush any Earth-born powerhouse. But reality struck like a lightning bolt when Malrick caught her fist mid-punch.
Somewhere behind Talos, a young Skrull girl had cheered, "Come on, big sister Carol! Break his head!" That voice had long gone silent. The girl now stood frozen, her expression shifting from hope to uncertainty.
For Talos, the moment Malrick felled Carol with a single strike felt like stepping off a cliff into endless nothingness. This couldn't be happening. Carol Danvers—the destroyer of Kree fleets—defeated in seconds? And yet, there she was, limp in Malrick's grasp.
The Skrull commander drew in a slow breath, then moved toward the hatch with his senior officers. A few moments later, Malrick appeared outside their ship. Talos mustered a diplomatic smile, preparing to speak. Malrick didn't wait. He tossed Carol onto the deck as though discarding a broken weapon. "Scram," he said flatly, before vanishing into the void.
Talos's smile dissolved. He crouched beside Carol, his features tightening. Her face was pale, skin slick with cold sweat. Her left forearm was bent unnaturally, though no blood spilled thanks to her remarkable healing factor. Already, bones were knitting beneath her skin. But the damage ran deeper. Malrick's final blow had ruptured nearly all her internal organs. Only her heart remained intact. Without her photon-enhanced physiology, she would have been dead before she hit the floor.
"Carol, talk to me. How bad is it? Get her to the med-bay—now!" Talos barked.
She waved him off, voice strained. "No… I can move… myself."
"Your injuries—"
"I said, I'll manage." She gritted her teeth, rivulets of sweat trailing down her jaw. Talos hated the stubbornness that made her invaluable in battle but impossible to protect.
In the shadows, not everyone saw weakness as a tragedy. Gravik and several younger Skrulls exchanged looks, something feral flickering in their eyes. Carol's scraped armor and bloodied skin told them she was at her weakest. And to warriors with ambition, weakness was opportunity.
Suddenly, a surge of golden light flared from Carol's body. She hissed against the pain, summoning every ounce of energy left in her. The photon aura cloaked her frame, speeding the repair of shattered bones and pulverized organs. With effort, she pushed herself upright, both palms pressed to the bulkhead for support.
"Get me… back to the ship, Talos."
"You're sure you're all right? Soren—help her into the escape pod," Talos ordered his wife. Soren slipped an arm around Carol, guiding her toward the corridor. Talos's gaze lingered on them until they disappeared. The last hope of peacefully remaining on Earth had burned to ash. Now, their only chance of survival lay in finding another home—and in Captain Marvel's strength to get them there.
"General," came a voice from behind him.
He turned to find Gravik standing with several others, each wearing the look of predators weighing their chances. Talos narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think about it. Carol couldn't stop Malrick. Neither can you. Whatever you're planning, bury it now."
Gravik's lip curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "No, General. Now's the perfect time. She's hurt. If we can get her blood, everything changes."
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