The Supreme Accusers gathered in the chamber were unusually tense, their expressions sharp and guarded as they studied the battle report projected before them. At first, they had dismissed the incident as nothing more than a minor skirmish, allowing the rogue Kryptonian monarch to dismantle a fleet as if it were some insignificant charity handed to an ambitious upstart. Back then, they had underestimated him, assuming it was a one-off display of power that wouldn't ripple far beyond its immediate impact.
But now the tone had shifted entirely, and the weight of the situation pressed down on every figure in the room. What they faced was no longer a nuisance, but a rising empire that dared to plunder the Kree without restraint.
"This so-called Kryptonian monarch has crossed the line," one of the Accusers said coldly, his voice dripping with irritation. "He's targeting our resources and expanding his territory as if we don't even exist."
Another slammed a fist lightly against the console, frustration barely contained. "The audacity alone is enough to warrant his extermination. Does he truly believe the Kree Empire will tolerate this?"
Their anger simmered, but beneath it lay something far more unsettling—uncertainty.
One of the Accusers narrowed his eyes and spoke, cutting through the tension with a question that none of them could ignore. "How did he even pull this off?"
The room fell into a brief silence, the kind that carried the weight of unspoken concern. It wasn't the loss that troubled them most—it was the method.
The data clearly showed what had been taken: two supermassive interstellar flagships and seventy-five battleships, along with vast quantities of rare metals and advanced materials. Yet the real issue wasn't the scale of the loss—it was how those assets had been removed so cleanly.
Transporting even a fraction of that through Kree-controlled space should have been impossible. Their territory stretched across the star routes, monitored and defended with precision. Nothing of that magnitude should have slipped through unnoticed, let alone been extracted intact.
And yet, somehow, it had happened.
The answer came not from speculation, but from the calm, calculated voice of the empire's central intelligence.
"It is the Space Stone," said Supreme Intelligence, its tone devoid of emotion yet heavy with certainty. "One of the Infinity Stones. It grants absolute control over space, allowing its user to manipulate distance as easily as drawing breath."
A murmur spread across the chamber as realization dawned. The pieces fit together too perfectly.
"So that's how he did it," one Accuser muttered, his expression darkening. "He bypassed every defense, every patrol, every limitation. He didn't transport the fleet—he simply folded space and took it."
Another leaned forward, eyes gleaming faintly with greed. "And that kind of power… is in his hands."
The implications were obvious. A weapon like that didn't just make him dangerous—it made him untouchable in conventional warfare.
"It's almost absurd," someone added bitterly. "A fallen empire like Krypton still possessing such a treasure."
But the conversation didn't end there. The deeper they looked, the worse it became.
The Supreme Intelligence continued, its voice steady as it unveiled the next piece of the puzzle. "The Kryptonians are not merely looting. They are rebuilding. Their genetic mastery allows them to reproduce rapidly through engineered processes, utilizing a central genetic archive."
Several Accusers stiffened at once. They knew exactly what that meant.
"You're saying… they can create soldiers at will?"
"Yes," the intelligence confirmed. "If their central genetic codex remains intact, their numbers can increase exponentially. Within months, they may field a fully restored military force."
The reaction was immediate and severe. Faces that had once shown confidence now reflected alarm.
"Months?" one of them repeated, disbelief creeping into his voice. "You're telling us they could become a dominant force in just a few months?"
Another Accuser's tone turned grim. "Give them a year, and they won't just be a threat—they'll be a rival empire."
The room erupted into overlapping voices, each one more urgent than the last.
"This cannot be allowed."
"They must be stopped now, before they reach that point."
"We've seen what happens when we underestimate a rising power."
The memory of past conflicts lingered like a shadow, a silent warning none of them dared ignore.
Finally, the Supreme Intelligence spoke again, cutting through the chaos with decisive authority. "I propose that the Kryptonian Empire be classified as a Level One Threat. We cannot allow the emergence of another destabilizing force on that scale."
The response was immediate and unanimous.
"Seconded."
"Seconded."
"Agreed."
The decision was sealed without hesitation. A Level One Threat designation meant total mobilization—every available resource would be directed toward containing and eliminating the Kryptonian Empire. Even forces currently engaged elsewhere would be recalled if necessary.
The Kree would not sit idle while a new power rose to challenge them.
Far from their territory, on Neptune, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Instead of tension, there was celebration. Instead of concern, there was triumph.
The plunder from Garonne had exceeded all expectations, and the sheer scale of their success left even seasoned engineers in disbelief. Massive warships floated in orbit, their structures intact and ready for repurposing. Crates of rare metals and advanced components filled the docking bays, enough to sustain large-scale production for years.
"This is unbelievable," one engineer exclaimed, his voice full of excitement. "Two flagship-class vessels and seventy-five battleships… we've hit the jackpot."
Another scientist laughed, unable to hide his enthusiasm. "With this, we can start constructing a planetary engine. We finally have the resources to make it happen."
The energy around them was electric, driven by the sudden shift from scarcity to abundance. For a people who had struggled with limited resources, this haul represented more than just material gain—it was the foundation of their resurgence.
At the center of it all stood Ethan Drake, watching the operation unfold with quiet satisfaction. The Space Stone had proven its worth beyond any doubt, allowing him to bypass the limitations that would have crippled any conventional force.
Through a single spatial gateway, entire fleets had been seized and relocated as if distance itself no longer mattered. It was a level of efficiency that bordered on absurdity, and it had left the Kree scrambling to respond.
"They're not going to take this lightly," someone remarked nearby. "We can expect retaliation soon."
Ethan didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the ongoing work. He already knew that.
Behind him, Lilith stepped forward, her tone more measured. "We lost over twenty Kryptonian soldiers during the operation."
He nodded slightly, acknowledging the report without visible reaction. Even with overwhelming power, casualties were inevitable. These soldiers, while enhanced, were not invincible. They relied on their durability and instinctive combat abilities, but they were still far from his own level.
And yet, unlike most armies, losses weren't a long-term concern.
With the genetic facilities in place, replenishing their ranks was simply a matter of time.
One of the lead scientists approached, his expression thoughtful. "We've been considering an upgrade for the troops. With our current resources, we could develop individual combat suits to enhance their performance significantly."
Ethan's interest sharpened slightly. He remembered the earlier prototypes—simple suits that had already improved mobility and survivability. With their current capabilities, those designs could be taken much further.
"How many?" he asked.
"Over a thousand units," the scientist replied. "Each one capable of supporting space combat and boosting overall effectiveness."
Ethan gave a small nod. "Do it. Prioritize production."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And integrate them with standard weapon systems," he added. "They're not me. They need every advantage they can get."
The scientist inclined his head in understanding before moving off to relay the orders.
Moments later, a herald approached, urgency evident in his posture. "Your Majesty, we've received a report from Nidavellir."
Ethan's attention shifted immediately. The name alone was enough to bring back a memory—one tied to a promise. The dwarves had agreed to forge weapons in exchange for his protection, and he had every intention of seeing what they had produced.
But the herald's expression suggested something else entirely.
"It's not about the weapons," the messenger clarified. "Our scouts stationed near the dwarf system have detected an unidentified vessel entering the outer star field."
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Unidentified?"
"They believe it may belong to the Dark Order."
That name carried weight. The Dark Order served Thanos, and their presence in the area was anything but coincidental.
"I see," Ethan said calmly.
For most civilizations, responding to such a threat would require time—calculations, travel, preparation. But for him, distance was no longer a barrier.
To Ethan Drake, space itself was nothing more than a medium to be bent at will.
A faint hum filled the air as his power activated, the fabric of reality folding in on itself. His form blurred for an instant before vanishing completely, leaving nothing behind but the lingering echo of energy.
He was already on his way to meet them.
....
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