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Quill was seeing stars. He clutched the back of his head, staring at Yondu Udonta, who had materialized out of nowhere, with a look caught somewhere between shock and fury.
"Yondu?! What are you doing here?!"
"What am I doing here?" Yondu gave him another kick. "If the Witch hadn't been so softhearted, worried you useless idiots couldn't handle Ronan, and specifically sent me to hide nearby with my men, ready to pull your sorry asses out of the fire at a moment's notice, you think you'd still be standing here breathing?! Ronan would've pounded you all into paste ages ago!"
"Wh — what?" Quill went completely blank. He stared at Yondu, then looked over at Hermione, utterly expressionless. "She sent you to protect us?"
Yondu snorted.
"Why else? You think I dragged myself all the way to Knowhere just to watch?"
Quill stayed rooted to the spot, his mind a total wreck.
He studied Yondu's face, no trace of a bluff there. Then he replayed Hermione's earlier moves: every gesture seemingly offhand, every step quietly calculated, her so-called "leniency" toward Ronan arriving at exactly the right moment. A hazy thought stirred somewhere in the back of his skull.
Maybe she hadn't actually let Ronan go.
Maybe she'd had a plan the whole time. And she'd arranged backup to protect them on the side, almost as an afterthought.
The idea felt ridiculous. But Yondu was standing right there, and that was a hard fact to argue with.
Hermione watched Quill's dumbstruck face, then flicked a glance at Gamora, who had gone equally still and silent.
She sneered, inwardly, at length.
What a legendary pair.
Zero strategy between them. Zero real strength to back it up. And yet the two of them ran their mouths about resistance louder than anyone in the galaxy.
At least the Malfoys had the right idea. Everyone thought they were Voldemort's devoted lapdogs, always at his heel, always working so dutifully on his behalf. In reality, they managed to accomplish precisely nothing for him. Now that was a genuine contribution to the greater good.
But these two? They went around swearing they'd take down Thanos, and ended up doing everything Thanos couldn't manage on his own.
They'd gone and found the Soul Stone's location. Got themselves sacrificed to obtain it. Got taken hostage as leverage. And then, to top it all off, snapped Thanos out of crowd control themselves.
Hermione was too exhausted to even roast them properly.
If you're that terrified Thanos will squeeze the Soul Stone's secret out of you, find a hole, climb in, and disappear. Simple. But no. These two had to keep bouncing around in the open, practically waving a sign at the man.
They'd served as his unwitting guides. Got themselves killed. Dragged their teammates down with them. And then had the nerve to stand here talking about justice.
A completely, thoroughly useless pair.
Rocket Raccoon looked between Quill and Gamora.
He was furious his friends had taken a beating, obviously. But the power Hermione had just put on display was a different level entirely, and if he was being honest, what she'd said wasn't exactly wrong.
Quill really did have trouble reading a room.
Hermione waved her hand, the way you'd wave off a fly.
"Yondu. In recognition of your loyalty, take your people and go. If I see them getting in my face again, I won't be nearly this reasonable."
Yondu went quiet. That one word, Yondu, told him everything he needed to know. She'd cut the Ravagers loose.
He held still for a moment. Then he gave Hermione a short, careful bow, voice carrying something complicated underneath. "My thanks to the Witch for her mercy."
He walked to Quill without another word, hauled him to his feet, then signaled his men to carry Gamora off. One by one, they filed out until the space was empty.
Only then did Hermione look away. A slow, sharp smile crept across her mouth.
"Ronan has the Power Stone now," she murmured, eyes bright with anticipation. "He should be heading straight for Xandar." The smile sharpened. "The show's about to start."
Letting Ronan walk had always been the point.
The Power Stone was powerful, she'd grant it that. But it was clumsy. Unwieldy. For her, at her current level, it wasn't much of a threat. It couldn't touch her, which meant it was effectively useless against her.
What she actually wanted was Xandar's faith.
Building the Church of the Witch took more than power. It took reputation. It took believers. And nothing gathered both faster than saving the world at the exact moment it looked lost.
Xandar. Capital of the Nova Empire. One of the most prosperous and peaceful planets in the universe.
Once Ronan used the Power Stone to raze it, the shockwave of terror that rippled out would be incalculable.
And into that terror, into that absolute despair, she would descend. Like a god stepping down from the sky. She would pull Xandar back from the edge and become the savior of the Nova Empire.
From there, the seeds of the Church of the Witch would take root. Spread through the Empire. Reach outward until they covered the whole universe.
Once the Church was that large — once her magical artifacts were woven into every corner of the cosmos and every death carried her mark — she wouldn't need to move at all. She could simply sit back. And harvest.
Xandar was the first test site. The proof of concept.
The plan was already in motion.
---
Outer space. Xandar.
The Dark Aster tore through the Nova Corps' defensive line like it wasn't there.
The Nova Corps' defense matrix, for all its coordination, all its firepower, crumbled under the Power Stone's augmentation. Ships exploded. Disintegrated. Scattered into cosmic dust.
Ronan stood on the bridge and looked down. His face was split by a crazed, savage grin.
The Stone's energy surged through him. He felt limitless. Untouchable. A true god.
"For the Kree!" His roar shook the hull, broadcast out through the entire comm system, rolling across the stars. "For my ancestors! For vengeance!"
The Dark Aster dropped like a falling star. It hit Xandar's surface with a shudder that moved through the whole planet.
Ronan's army poured out of the warship.
The Nova Corps' ground forces were already waiting, formations locked, fighters screaming into the air, energy cannons hammering down in dense, overlapping curtains of fire.
None of it mattered.
Against the Power Stone, the resistance was a gesture. Nothing more.
Ronan moved through the battlefield like death given a body, his Power Hammer sweeping clean everything in his path. Smoke choked the air. Flame punched skyward. The Guardians and Yondu's crew fought just to stay alive, nowhere close to threatening Ronan.
Ronan threw his head back and laughed.
"Hahahaha! Xandar! Today you die!"
He raised his war hammer. Purple energy coiled and thickened at its head.
"Pizza Hut, YES!"
Despair moved through the defenders like a wave.
Ronan's arm swung down.
The Power Stone's full force was one second away from hitting the surface of Xandar and burning the planet to nothing.
And then a voice cut across the entire battlefield.
Clear. Bright. Utterly calm. Completely out of place.
"Wait."
Ronan's arm stopped.
His hammer hung frozen in mid-air. The grin locked on his face.
Everyone stopped. Every person on that battlefield, fighter and defender alike, turned toward the voice.
A figure had appeared in the sky above them, out of thin air, looking down at Ronan from on high.
"Pizza Hut?" she said. "Where exactly is this Pizza Hut?"
➤ Next: Long Live the Witch
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