Post by Drake on Dec 23, 2015 12:42:33 GMT -5
#16: Infinity - The Kree-Spartoi War Part 1
Finis Pacis
By Drake
The scrappy Milano starship, Milago, broke out of lightspeed as it neared a gem of a planet covered in blue and green. Inside the ship, its crew, more commonly known as the Guardians of the Galaxy, readied for their impromptu mission to the Kree homeworld.
“Phyla, ready for scans,” the captain of the ship, a ruggedly handsome blond man by the name of Peter Quill, said to a white-haired woman near the back.
Phyla flipped her cloak’s hood over her head and then proceeded to tighten the golden Infinity Gauntlet’s grip on her hand by pulling it back. The purple Mind Stone flickered faintly, the byproduct of Phyla’s constant control of a Skrull armada hundreds of lightyears away near their home base of Knowhere.
“I’m prepared, Star Lord,” Phyla said.
“See? She gets it,” Peter said without a hint of jest. “’Star Lord’ is here to stay.”
“Well, it’s better than ‘Quill,’ I’ll give you that,” Rocket Raccoon drawled, “But not by much.”
“I am Groot,” the flora colossus and resident powerhouse added.
“You said it,” Rocket smirked, high-fiving his enormous friend.
“Now’s not the time, guys,” Heather Douglas chided, as she slipped her Nova Corps helmet onto her head.
“We have a mission that will result in our immediate and horrible deaths should anything go wrong,” Beta Ray Kill, onetime friend of Peter’s and a horse-faced mercenary, snarled.
“Aren’t you a bucket of sunshine,” Rocket grumbled.
“Please, comrade Rocket, for the sake of cooperation, do not engage,” Quiestia Chirra, a red-finned Centaurian warrior, said.
“Fine, but only ‘cause your smile lights up my day, beautiful,” Rocket replied, offering a toothy grin that would have been attractive to another raccoon or a furry.
Quie and Heather glanced at one another, enjoying a joke only they understood.
“Heads up, guys. We’ve got company,” Peter said, looking out the front of Milago at the small bird-shaped ship quickly approaching them.
“Identify yourselves,” the harsh voice of a Kree border guard rang through the communications system as her ship scanned over Milago.
“Peter—“ Milago began.
“—Star Lord—“ the captain interrupted.
“—Their scans will pick up the Infinity Gauntlet’s energy signature. They’re also not exactly allowing just anyone through their borders at the moment,” Milago finished.
“Relax, Mil, we’ve got it handled,” Peter confidently replied, looking back at Phyla through the rearview mirror. She met his gaze and nodded. He clicked the comms button. “Ship ID: 20XX Ravager-class Milano, codenamed Millennium Falcon. My name is Captain Han Solo, and I’m delivering much needed supplies to your military, specifically at Chain Base.”
“That’s cute,” Heather smirked at Peter’s codename. She’d told him about Star Wars a long, long time ago when the war had seemed unwinnable. At the time, he had needed a little hope. Now, he practically exuded it. Ever since he had talked the Skrull suicide bomber down, he had refused to believe they could lose.
“Sir, we did not request—“ The Kree cut off. Peter could see the Mind Stone’s glow brightening out of the corner of his eye. “Permission to land granted. Move along.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, leading Milago into the atmosphere. He flicked off his seatbelt and stood up. “Mil, take it from here. I’m gonna get ready.”
“Go right ahead,” Milago said.
Peter turned to face his crew and immediately noticed Phyla was sweating profusely, her brow furrowed. He approached her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You okay, Phyla?” Peter asked.
She nodded, but he didn’t buy it. In fact, neither did the others. “Just tired. It…takes a lot to keep everyone from noticing us, and to manage an army forever and a year away.”
“Take a load off your feet. We’ve got this,” Rocket said, uncharacteristically worried.
Phyla was about to protest, but Heather spoke up. “Rest, Phy. You’re doing enough as is.”
Phyla met the human’s gaze, and something broke in her. She nodded in agreement and sat down on a passenger bench.
“Remind me again why one of us doesn’t take a turn with the Gauntlet,” Rocket grumbled.
“As you are neither of a race capable of handling it nor connected to another piece of the Seven Wonders of the Galaxy,” Phyla raised her hands to expose her Quantum Bands, “the power would overload you, destroy you, and result in sufficient time for the Skrulls to kill hundreds on Knowhere and the Kree to destroy Milago and us with it,” Phyla said, paused for a moment, and then added, “Oh, and death by overload hurts like a blix.”
“That’s a pretty d’ast good reason,” Rocket admitted.
Peter nodded in agreement, and then refocused the argument to the mission at hand. “With all that said, ready up. We’re almost planetside.”
A short while later, Milago hovered close to the ground near an enormous airfield. The Guardians looked out over the military base in shock. Kree personnel rushed around, fueling ships, loading them, and heading off into space for war.
“I am Groot.”
“That is a lot of ships,” Rocket agreed, eyes wide. The armada was impressive by any standard.
“And the Spartoi throneworld is about to face them all,” came a voice through the comms system as Milago finally landed. Peter glanced back at Phyla.
“He’s mine. Docking station.” She nodded towards an enormous building a hundred yards away.
Peter rushed to the communications module and activated it. “Spartax? Why?”
“Not Spartax. The new throneworld: Kaya. We have just discovered the identity of the Supreme Intelligence’s murderer,” the Kree explained.
“And they’re Spartoi?”
“Yes. A Royal Guardsman.”
Peter shook his head. None of this made sense. Why would a Spartoi Guardsman travel across the cosmos and engage in a mission he knew would result in yet another war the Spartoi could not win? J-Son certainly would never have ordered it. Something wasn’t right about the entire situation.
Peter looked back at Phyla again as the rest of his team turned their gazes to him. Even Bill waited for orders.
“Can you stop them?” Peter asked.
“For about half a second before I have an aneurysm and die, yes,” Phyla replied.
“Shit!” Peter swiveled around and slammed his hands against the controls.
“Ow,” Milago grunted.
“Sorry,” Peter apologized. He sighed and massaged his temple. “We can’t stop them. We can’t prevent a war. Eternals d’ast it!”
“We’ll follow your lead, Star Lord,” Heather said.
Peter turned to look at his team. His gaze faltered for a moment. He didn’t know what to do. They could send their army to attempt and most likely fail to stop a war, effectively committing to a suicide mission that would mean they would never stop Thanos, or they could give up and let billions of people die. Looking up, Peter decided on the only course of action he’d ever been good at taking: inaction.
“For now, the best thing to do is to return to Knowhere. We need to discuss this with Cosmo.”
The crew prepared to depart as two pervading questions plagued their thoughts: who’d done it? Who had killed the Supreme Intelligence? And why?
…
The Far Outreaches of Space
A black cruiser switched out of camouflage mode and gently landed on the surface of the moon-sized meteor that acted as the headquarters to the vilest villains in the galaxy. Out stepped Blackshot, once a human astronaut and now a cybernetic assassin dressed in all black. A sniper slung over his shoulder, Blackshot swaggered over to his master and fellow warriors: The Annihilators.
“It’s done. They bought the scapegoat. Nothing will stop the Kree-Spartoi war,” Blackshot explained.
Thanos, the enormous Mad Titan, slowly turned around, redirecting his gaze from space to his personal assassin. ”Good. Then the final phase of my plan can begin.”
“We can kill the Guardians?” Nebula wondered excitedly.
“Patience, sister,” the beautiful warrior Gamora cooed.
”Thank you, Gamora,” Thanos said, continuing as Nebula shot Gamora a venomous look, ”The plan will prove simple even for the smallest of minds to comprehend.”
With this comment came a look at Drax, the tattooed Destroyer, who simply stared right on through at his master, neither understanding the insult nor capable of caring should he have.
”While the Nova Corps struggle to maintain peace throughout the galaxy, you, my Annihilators, will lead the Badoon army to Xandar to eliminate the Nova Prime and take from her possession the Space Stone.”
“Bah! We need no help from mindless monsters!” Drax argued.
“Gotta agree with air-for-brains. We can handle it,” Blackshot said.
"What? I do not have air for a brain," Drax retorted.
“Silence!!” The cloaked Corvus Glaive growled. “Listen to our master!”
The two Annihilators nearly spoke against the older man, but remained quiet when they noticed Thanos’ bloodthirsty glare. His hands glowed with ionic energy, and they knew they were seconds away from being turned to dust.
”As I stated,” Thanos relaxed, ”You will use the Badoon to seize the Space Stone and destroy the Nova Prime. Meanwhile, I will travel across the galaxy to the Universal Church of Truth’s Templeship and take the Soul Stone from the heretic that preaches there.”
After taking a moment to allow the plan to sink in, Thanos asked, ”Is the plan clear?”
“Crystal,” Blackshot said. He patted Drax on the back, who would have recoiled by smacking the fellow Annihilator away should he not have been in the company of Thanos. “So, what’s say we get to some destroying?”
…
The Guardians took off alongside numerous Kree warships. As they rose into the sky, the strain grew progressively more obvious on Phyla, and the Kree warrior collapsed onto her back. Barely conscious, she tried to whisper something.
The other Guardians sans Peter circled around her. Heather pushed them away. “Give her some space!”
They did as ordered, and Heather kneeled down beside Phyla. She leaned in.
“What is it?” Heather softly asked.
“What the hell is going on?” Peter called from the captain’s seat right as Phyla spoke.
Heather shot Peter an angry look, quieting him, then turned back to Phyla. However, by that point, the Kree woman had fainted entirely. Heather felt her pulse. It was steady, if a bit quick. She looked back at Peter.
“Phy’s down.”
“Uh oh,” Rocket muttered.
“’Uh oh!’ What the hell do you mean ‘uh oh?’’” Peter shouted, looking back through the rearview mirror, panic rising.
Rocket pointed to the Infinity Gauntlet lying loosely on Phyla’s hand. The Mind Stone had stopped glowing. In fact, the Gauntlet as a whole offered only the reflection of light off its smooth surface.
“The Gauntlet’s in recovery mode. We’ve got a problem.”
Before anyone else could speak, a voice came through the communications system, “Stand down, trespassers, or you will be fired upon! By order of Kilcommander Hera Vell, stand down!”
Heather looked down, eyes wide with fear, at Phyla who began to shimmer and fade, her hand literally disappearing like she was a ghost. Meanwhile, the other Guardians all tried to remain calm.
“What does that mean?” Quie demanded. “Do we fight?”
“No,” Peter shook his head, leaving Milago the controls and standing up.
“That means,” Kill said through gritted teeth, “That I was abso-fracking-lutely right. One little mistake, and now we’re dead.”
…
Knowhere
The base of the Guardians of the Galaxy and their rebellion, the cheekily dubbed Legion of Guardians, was in chaos. The decapitated head of a god-like being known as a Celestial had not seen such terror and bloodshed since its death. War had begun not only across the cosmos between the Kree and Spartoi, but also at home where the once mentally controlled Skrull army revolted against their captors.
Starships flurried through space, battling one another. The Skrulls outnumbered the rebel fighters ten to one. Terrified heroes tried to prevent the Skrull Godship from destroying Knowhere in one blow, unaware of the chaos inside the ship.
“Priest-Captain K’pree, the Planetkiller missile is ready. We can destroy the rebel’s settlement,” a Skrull armsman explained from his control panel.
“Not yet!” K’Pree, a Skrull like any other, green-skinned and dressed in purple and black, ordered. “Not yet! Holy Commander Raksor has not yet been found. By the Creator, hold your fire!”
Elsewhere, deep within the Knowhere Security prison block, the recovery of the Skrull’s leader had begun. A soldier fired his blaster, killing the only remaining guard. From there, he copied the corpse’s features and used them to access the control panel.
Unlocking every cell in the block, the Skrull cried out, “Wreak chaos, my friends! The day is yours!”
Confused prisoners spent the first few seconds looking at one another. They had heard the sound of blaster fire and starships. They knew something was amiss. The question, however, was whether this was a test.
J-Son of Spartax, his royal suit a dirtied mess, stepped into the light and immediately took action. “We’re free, you fraggers! RUN!”
The prisoners set off down the aisle, past the Skrull, and toward the storage room for their weapons. Meanwhile, J-Son took his time approaching the Skrull through the wave of escapees.
The reptilian alien smirked at him as he neared. “You’re welcome—“
Before the Skrull could finish, J-Son lashed out, grabbing the Skrull by his neck and twisting him around. The shapeshifter reached for his blaster, but J-Son wrestled it from his grip and used it against him. The Skrull fell to the ground, a burning and bloody mess.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I hate Skrulls,” J-Son muttered, wiping the alien’s green blood off his face.
“J-Son…”
The Spartoi king’s eyes widened in surprise. He recognized that voice. Turning around, J-Son readied the blaster as he came face to face with a Skrull he recognized all too well. Dressed in scraggy clothes best fit for a smuggler, the Holy Commander stood out amongst any of his race.
“Raksor,” J-Son whispered.
“You stole my ship, my men, my power,” Raksor raged, “Now, you die.”
“Remind me again who’s holding the blaster,” J-Son retorted, before firing.
Raksor blocked the shot by enlarging his arm and using it as a shield. While still wounded, he could fight. Quickly, Raksor shot his uninjured arm forward like a whip, smacking J-Son to the ground and his blaster to the side.
Raksor sprung forward, eyes alight with an eager thirst for blood. He tried to smash J-Son back into the ground as he rose, but the warrior king rolled away and kicked out his feet from under him. J-Son took control by grabbing the blaster and straddling Raksor. However, before he could fire, Raksor slapped away the gun. J-Son managed to keep it in his grasp, but the power battery exploded upon contact, burning both Raksor’s and J-Son’s hands and rendering the weapon useless.
Raksor kicked J-Son off of him, cracking the Spartoi’s ribs and sending shuddering pain throughout his body. J-Son tried to recover, but was smacked back to the ground. Raksor morphed his legs into a tail and slithered over to the injured king. He then transformed his lower appendages into four talons and used them to pin J-Son’s limbs against the ground. Without wasting a moment, Raksor ignored J-Son’s grunts of distress and meager attempts at escape, and began to choke him out.
“You die like the pawn you are, J-Son. A nobody,” Raksor gleamed. “Compared to you, I am a god, capable of incredible feats.”
“You’re also—ggk—a scared child—ggk—incapable of doing what is necessary—ggk—to win,” J-Son managed.
Before Raksor could respond, J-Son forced up with his neck, managing to temporarily overpower the Skrull, and bit off his nose. Green blood spurted over J-Son’s face as the shapeshifter screamed in pain. The battle now in his hands, J-Son flipped the Skrull over and shoved his thumbs into Raksor’s eyes. The Skrull cried out for a few moments, morphing quickly between forms as a means of struggling against J-Son, but the king held him down nonetheless. The Spartoi simply grit his teeth, ignoring the acidic taste of Skrull blood in his mouth. Eventually, Raksor went limp, returning to his original form, and J-Son finally relaxed.
Wheezing, J-Son took a moment to focus, before he reached into Raksor’s pockets, looking for something. He found it in the Skrull’s jacket pocket, and removed it: a small gold medallion. Then, the Spartoi king forced himself onto his feet. He looked down at the blood on his hands, which now leaked onto the medallion, darkened his gaze, and then stumbled off, stuffing the medal into his coat.
The warzone proved to be exceptionally easy to navigate considering he was the least of anyone’s worries. Skrulls attacked Knowhere security guardsmen or Centaurian soldiers, and vice versa. Nobody paid attention to the injured Spartoi. Nobody except a brown pooch clad in Russian cosmonaut gear and the Centaurian general, Yinuet, who knew J-Son’s face all too well.
“Stand down!” Yinuet roared through the chaos, before whistling his sonic arrow over to J-Son, leaving it just an inch from his throat.
The Spartoi king frowned, looking down at the arrow. “Bullocks.”
He put his hands into the air and turned slowly around. Cosmo continued to focus on paralyzing the Skrulls around him with his psychic powers, while Yinuet kept his eyes on the shifty king.
“I was just looking for you,” J-Son explained, face alight with a devilish grin, but feigning honesty well enough.
“Uh huh,” Yinuet nodded, stepping toward him.
“I know you have no reason to trust me, but you see, my friends,” J-Son said, “I have a plan. A plan to stop all of this. A plan to save Knowhere.”
Yinuet looked back at Cosmo, who reciprocated the gaze in kind. They both returned their focus to J-Son.
The king continued, “So, what do you say?”
<Go to sleep.>
…
Hala
“We could ‘a stopped this. It wouldn’t have been hard. All we had ta do was give me the d’ast—“
Heather elbowed Rocket to quiet him as the Guardians were led aboard a Kree ship at gunpoint. Her intense glare spoke for itself. ‘Keep quiet. They can’t learn about the Gauntlet.’ After all, that had proved to be the one of two weapons they could hide. As soon as the team became endangered, the Gauntlet and the Quantum Bands had faded away, almost like an instinct to protect themselves and their master.
“All I’m saying is it’s stupid we never tried to—“
“Quiet, rodent!” Standing beside Heather, a female Kree soldier dressed in a green and white suit, helmet and all, ordered.
“Rodent? I ain’t any more of a rodent than you are, sweetheart,” Rocket remarked.
“That’s it!” The soldier holstered her blaster and produced a small baton, which lit up with electricity upon contact. As she raised it to strike Rocket, the raccoon slipped between her legs and removed her blaster from its holster.
Immediately, every other Guardian was transformed into a hostage. Only the previously frustrated Kree soldier was in any danger on the Kree’s side, and even then Rocket could immediately tell he was outmatched.
“Rocket!!” Peter cried.
“I am Groot!” Groot begged, Phyla slung over his shoulders.
Rocket sighed. He returned the Kree her gun, and walked back into line. “I’m the only one with any guts on this team, I swear.”
The Kree soldier nearly struck Rocket in retaliation, but was stopped by her superior officer at the front of the entry deck. Not only had Rocket’s escape attempt occurred onboard the Kree ship, but in front of a crowd of soldiers.
“Halt, Officer Vell!” The woman the Guardians could immediately tell was the ship’s captain ordered.
“Kilcommander—“ the soldier began.
“Vell, first you ignore your better judgment and allow your rage to consume you, resulting in a public embarrassment, and now you talk back to a commanding officer?” The woman coolly said. She approached the younger soldier and loudly declared. “You will be put on guard duty for this transgression.”
“Wait, what? Angry chick’s punishment is to be our—“
The Kree Kilcommander silenced Rocket with a look. The cyborg raccoon gulped. The ship’s captain then proceeded to lean in to whisper something into Officer Vell’s ear.
“You may be my niece, Phyla, but you are not exempt from the rules,” Kilcommander Vell said with a hint of affection.
Heather’s eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t have heard that right. Phyla Vell. She looked around, checking to see if any of the others had heard the same thing, but no one seemed to care if they had. She then looked back at Officer Vell, whose pink-skinned face had lit up bright red like a Christmas tree. Those blue eyes, the way she bit her bottom lip…
Heather looked back at the unconscious Phyla slung over Groot’s shoulders for confirmation. Yes, the two women looked different. Officer Vell was much younger than Phyla, and her face didn’t yet have the scars nor yellow tattoo that the older Phyla sported, but they were undeniably the same person. It was remarkable no one else had noticed, particularly Officer Vell.
But you know what they say. You wouldn’t recognize a duplicate of yourself, even if she was right in your face.
“Officer Vell, proceed to the detention center and leave the…criminals,” Kilcommander Hera Vell said the word with the utmost venom, “In separate cells. I will discuss their punishment with the other commanders, but I have a feeling that they are not long for this world.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Officer Vell nodded, and then continued to lead the Guardians away with the other deckhands.
Rocket refrained from speaking until they had been locked away.
After the young Officer Phyla Vell had shut their energy gates, the raccoon grimaced, looked across the hall at his friend, Groot, and said, “Groot, ol’ buddy, ol’ tree, what is it with us and prisons?”
…
Kaya, the new Spartoi throneworld
Emptiness. That was all space was for lightyears around the peaceful planet of Kaya. Since the fall of Spartax, the new throneworld had refrained from involvement in the war between the Spartoi army and the Brotherhood of the Badoon. It had begun as a world of culture, of peace, and J-Son had determined it the perfect spot for a temporary capitol. No Badoon knew of it. Only the most intelligent of the races, the beings who had traded with the Spartoi, knew of its location. The Kree, for example…
Suddenly, space was no longer emptiness as hundreds of Kree ships exited lightspeed. Within seconds, the satellites and guard ships surrounding Kaya were eliminated. Within half a minute more, a couple hundred Spartoi warships, unprepared for battle on such a large scale, exited the atmosphere and fired upon the Kree. Burnt metal and corpses quickly littered space. No, it would not be empty for a long time to come.
After all, war had begun.