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Knowhere. The Collector's Museum.
Peter Quill's vision swam with dark spots. Seeing actual stars from the crushing blow, he clutched the back of his throbbing head and pushed himself up from the rubble. He stared in a volatile mix of shock, anger, and betrayal at the blue-skinned pirate suddenly standing over him.
"Yondu?!" Quill rasped, spitting out dust. "What are you doing here?!"
"How did I get here?" Yondu snarled, his face twisting in annoyance. He delivered a swift, hard kick to Quill's ribs for good measure. "You brainless idiot! If it weren't for the Lady Witch's absolute kindness... fearing that you bunch of useless trash wouldn't be a match for Ronan... she specifically ordered me and my men to hide nearby, ready to rescue you at any moment! Do you honestly think you'd still be standing and breathing right now?!"
Yondu pointed a scarred finger at the gaping hole in the ceiling where the Kree warship had departed. "You would have been smashed into bloody mincemeat by that madman Ronan long ago!"
"You… what did you say?"
Quill was completely dumbfounded. He stared incredulously at Yondu, his jaw slack, and then slowly turned his bruised face to look at the expressionless Hermione standing a few feet away.
"She... she sent you to protect us?" Quill stammered, his brain struggling to process the conflicting information.
Yondu snorted loudly, crossing his arms over his leather coat.
"Otherwise what, boy? Do you think I'm just bored? Do you think I have nothing better to do than burn hyper-fuel coming all the way to the Void just to watch a circus show?"
Quill stood there, utterly stunned, his mind a complete, tangled mess.
He looked at Yondu's deeply genuine, furious expression. Then, he recalled Hermione's seemingly casual yet highly calculated actions—the way she effortlessly crushed the Collector's defenses, her perfectly timed "indulgence" of Ronan's escape. A vague, horrifying idea began to form in the back of his mind.
Could it be that she didn't actually let Ronan go out of mercy, but had other, grander plans? And did she really arrange a backup plan to protect us? The thought struck him as entirely absurd given how hard she had just slapped him, yet he was forced to confront the undeniable physical fact that Yondu had appeared right on cue to save his neck.
Hermione looked at Quill's foolish, gaping appearance, then glanced over at Gamora, who was equally silent, bleeding, and shocked in the rubble.
Hermione sneered inwardly.
They are truly a pair of brilliant minds, she thought, her internal monologue dripping with cold sarcasm.
They had no grand strategy. They had no overwhelming strength. Yet, they shouted slogans of justice and rebellion louder than anyone else in the galaxy all day long.
Hermione couldn't help but compare them to the Death Eaters back home. The Malfoy family, for instance. Though they appeared to be nothing more than Voldemort's cowardly lackeys, working diligently out of fear every day, they actually did the Dark Lord's work. They were efficient cogs in a political and economic machine, which, in a twisted way, provided a stable (if dark) structure to the masses.
And then there were these two in front of her. Constantly talking about rebelling against Thanos, but effectively doing everything Thanos couldn't manage to do himself.
They found out the location of the Infinity Stones. They allowed themselves to be used, tracked, and taken hostage. They practically gift-wrapped the cosmic artifacts for the villains.
Hermione was profoundly speechless.
If you're so terrified that Thanos will find out the secret of the Stones from you, she reasoned coldly, why don't you just find a quiet, unmapped rock to hide on and disappear forever? Why do you have to keep running around the most populated sectors of the galaxy in a neon-colored spaceship, getting arrested, as if you're afraid Thanos won't be able to find you?!
Gamora had become a traitor, ruined her own life, and dragged her incompetent teammates down with her into the crosshairs of a universal genocide. How dare she lecture anyone about justice?
They were a completely useless, chaotic liability.
Rocket Raccoon, dusting off his fur, shot a quiet, assessing glance at Quill and Gamora. He was certainly angry that his teammate had been beaten, but Hermione's raw power was far too terrifying to challenge. And upon closer, cynical reflection... the terrifying girl's logic didn't seem to be wrong. Quill was definitely a bit clueless.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively, exactly like one might shoo away a cloud of annoying flies.
"Yondu," Hermione said, her voice dropping its playful edge. "For the sake of your demonstrated loyalty today... take your men and get out of here. If I see this rabble pointing fingers at me or lecturing me again, I won't be so lenient."
Yondu remained completely silent for a heavy moment.
Hermione's deliberate use of the single word "Yondu"—instead of the pet name "Moore" she had forced upon him—made him realize with a chilling certainty that his group of Ravagers had just been completely, officially abandoned as her direct servants. Their contract was terminated.
He paused, feeling the immense weight of his survival, then bowed deeply to Hermione.
"Thank you for your mercy, Lady Witch," Yondu said, his tone incredibly complicated.
He silently walked over to Quill, hauled the groaning Star-Lord up by the collar, and then gestured sharply for his men to pry Gamora out of the wall and carry her away as well.
After the heavy blast doors hissed shut and the Guardians had completely left the museum, Hermione withdrew her gaze from the exit.
A sinister, brilliantly cold smile slowly appeared on her lips. The air around her seemed to drop in temperature.
"Ronan," Hermione murmured to herself, her dark eyes gleaming with raw, unadulterated excitement. "Now that you've got the Power Stone... you should be absolutely itching to head to Xandar to settle your blood debt, right?"
She adjusted her robes. "The show is about to begin."
Her sole purpose in letting Ronan go was exactly this: to manipulate him into taking the Power Stone directly to the capital of the Nova Empire.
While the Power Stone was indeed universally devastating, it was, functionally speaking, a crude instrument. It was too cumbersome and slow to use against a teleporting, reality-warping target. It was no longer a direct threat to Hermione. After all, infinite destructive power is completely useless if you can't actually hit your opponent.
What truly interested her was not the purple rock. It was the faith of Xandar.
To establish her envisioned "Witch Cult" across the cosmos, she needed more than just raw magical power; she needed immense prestige, awe, and billions of devoted followers. And nothing in the history of the universe is more effective and faster at reaping absolute prestige and fanatical faith than saving a world in its darkest time of crisis.
Xandar, the glittering capital of the Nova Empire, was one of the most prosperous, heavily populated, and peaceful planets in the known universe.
If Ronan were to suddenly breach their defenses and attempt to destroy the planet with an Infinity Stone, the resulting uproar, terror, and apocalyptic panic would be unimaginable. Billions of souls crying out for salvation.
And she would descend from the heavens like a goddess in that exact moment of ultimate despair. She would effortlessly save Xandar from peril, instantly cementing herself as the supreme savior of the Nova Empire.
At that precise moment, the seeds of the Witch Cult would be able to take root in fertile soil, sprout, and grow exponentially strong throughout the Nova Empire and, eventually, the entire universe.
Once her Cult had spread across the galaxies, she could continuously collect ancient magical items and cosmic artifacts as tribute.
Once she had billions of followers using her enchanted artifacts on a massive, galactic scale—and every death, victory, or spell cast was intrinsically linked to her magical network—she wouldn't even need to lift a finger to reap the rewards. She would passively harvest the ambient magical energy and souls of the entire universe.
The impending, orchestrated crisis on Xandar was simply the first extraterrestrial stress-test in her grand design.
Outer Space. The Xandarian System.
The massive, cross-shaped Dark Aster broke through the Nova Corps' orbital defenses like a whale breaching a fishing net.
The Nova Corps' legendary defensive matrix—a golden, interlocking shield of Starblasters—proved utterly, tragically vulnerable against the Power Stone. As Ronan channeled the purple energy through his ship, the golden net exploded, disintegrating thousands of brave pilots into silent cosmic dust.
Ronan stood on the bridge of the Dark Aster, looking down at the pristine blue-and-green planet below with a crazed, bloodthirsty grin splitting his black-painted face.
The raw energy of the Power Stone surged within his Kree veins, making him feel as if he were truly omnipotent. A living, breathing god of judgment.
"For the Kree! For my ancestors! For revenge!" Ronan roared, his fanatical voice amplified and echoing throughout the entire cosmos via the warship's hacked broadcast system.
The Dark Aster crashed down through the atmosphere like a dark meteorite, landing directly on the surface of Xandar, crushing skyscrapers beneath its bulk. The immense kinetic impact caused the entire planet's tectonic plates to tremble.
The ramps lowered. Ronan led his army of Sakaaran mercenaries out of the warship and into the burning city squares.
The Nova Corps' ground forces were already on high alert. Countless fighter jets took off from hidden hangars, and heavy anti-aircraft energy cannons rained down yellow plasma in a desperate attempt to stop the invasion.
However, this valiant resistance seemed so pale, so utterly powerless in the face of an Infinity Stone.
Wielding his glowing purple warhammer, Ronan strode forward like the Grim Reaper made manifest on the battlefield. With every casual swing of the Cosmi-Rod, entire battalions of Nova Centurions were vaporized. Buildings shattered like glass.
On the battlefield, thick black smoke filled the air, and purple flames soared into the sky.
The Guardians of the Galaxy and Yondu's Ravagers, who had rushed to the surface in a desperate bid to stop him, could barely protect themselves from the shockwaves. They posed absolutely no threat to Ronan whatsoever.
Seeing that the combined might of the Nova Empire and his petty rivals were about to be utterly defeated, Ronan laughed wildly. He looked up at the smoke-choked sky, relishing his absolute victory.
"Hahahaha! People of Xandar! Today is your doomsday!"
Ronan raised his warhammer high above his head. The apocalyptic purple energy rapidly condensed on the hammer's head, glowing with the intensity of a dying star. He prepared to strike the planet's surface and crack Xandar's core wide open.
Lost in the absolute ecstasy of his godhood, his universal translator glitched, or perhaps his unhinged Kree battle cry simply transcended standard galactic linguistics. He roared to the heavens:
"Pizza Hut, please!"
Absolute despair flashed in the eyes of everyone on the ground. Gamora closed her eyes. Quill braced for the end.
Just as Ronan was about to swing his warhammer down, unleashing the full, world-ending power of the Power Stone onto the surface of Xandar to utterly destroy the planet... at the very last, breathless microsecond...
A crisp, clear voice suddenly rang out across the apocalyptic battlefield.
It sounded completely out of place amidst the roaring flames and screaming civilians, yet it carried a magical resonance that clearly, perfectly reached every single ear in the city.
"Wait."
Upon hearing that chillingly familiar, polite voice, Ronan froze.
His hand, gripping the warhammer tightly, stopped dead in mid-air. The triumphant, crazed smile on his face shattered like porcelain.
The Ravagers, the Guardians, and the Nova Corps involuntarily stopped what they were doing, lowering their weapons and looking blankly up into the smoke-filled sky in the direction from which the sound had come.
A petite figure in dark robes suddenly appeared, floating gracefully in the sky above the carnage, looking down at Ronan with an expression of profound, genuine bewilderment.
Hermione blinked, looking around the burning city square.
"Pizza Hut?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Where's Pizza Hut?"