"What exactly did they encounter on C53?"
Yon-Rogg's brow furrowed so deeply it resembled an old chrysanthemum blooming in late autumn. His usually sharp, calculating eyes were clouded with an unusual heaviness.
The situation was absurd. All the undercover agents the Kree had planted on that backwater planet had simultaneously lost contact. Simultaneously.
There was only one logical conclusion: every single one of them had been eliminated in secret.
Otherwise, how could they all vanish without transmitting even a single distress signal?
But C53… C53!
That impoverished, primitive planet! Its civilization had barely crawled past the threshold of atomic power, still bound by gravity wells, still dragging itself along with crude aircraft that could barely reach orbit. In the grand Kree star charts, Earth wasn't even considered an emerging star nation—it was cataloged as "primitive fauna-bearing."
For such a world to wipe out Kree agents? Impossible. Laughable.
Even if accidents had occurred, even if the infiltrators had stumbled upon local resistance, they were elite Kree warriors. Their suits alone were more advanced than the most cutting-edge weapons of Earth's militaries. They should have had no trouble securing their missions.
And even in the absolute worst case, at least one of them should have sent word back.
"Additionally," the subordinate hesitated, then continued, "we discovered wreckage orbiting near C53. It has been confirmed as the remains of a Skrull vessel."
A sharp gleam flashed through Yon-Rogg's eyes.
"Skrulls?"
The word left his lips like venom.
A single explanation instantly presented itself. It was the Skrulls. Who else could it be?
The Kree and Skrulls had been locked in endless war for generations, enemies carved into each other's bones. Yon-Rogg knew them too well—their strengths, their weaknesses, and above all, their cursed shapeshifting.
Yes. If Skrull agents had infiltrated Earth at the same time, disguised as humans, they could have ambushed the Kree infiltrators one by one, silencing them before they had time to transmit signals.
It wasn't likely—the Skrulls weren't usually that efficient—but what other explanation was there?
Earth's natives? Nonsense. That was utterly inconceivable.
And yet… the Skrull wreckage bothered him. Who destroyed their warship?
Not Earth. Not that mudball of a planet. Impossible.
But then, if not the Kree, and not the Skrulls themselves, then who?
This tangled web of unanswered questions even made a veteran like Yon-Rogg feel unsettled.
"Are there any other reports?"
The soldier shook his head. "Sir, that is all we've gathered."
"…Dismissed."
With a wave of his hand, Yon-Rogg dismissed the soldier, his expression hardening as he turned toward the towering crystalline spire at the center of Hala—the chamber of the Supreme Intelligence.
Moments later, he stood beneath the vast, shifting visage of the AI god that ruled the Kree.
"The infiltrators on C53 have been wiped out," Yon-Rogg reported crisply, bowing his head. "We believe the Skrulls may be responsible. And we have confirmed the destruction of a Skrull vessel in the system."
The Supreme Intelligence's great, glowing face shifted, its thousand eyes glittering like stars. Its voice reverberated in Yon-Rogg's mind.
"Investigate immediately."
"The Power Source cannot fall into enemy hands. Retrieve it at all costs."
"If the Skrulls are active on C53, then they too are aware of its significance. You must not allow them to seize it first."
The Supreme Intelligence's command brooked no debate.
"I understand," Yon-Rogg said, bowing deeply before the vast projection, and then the link severed.
Outside, he wasted no time.
"Talo!"
His most trusted aide, clad in sleek Kree battle armor, stepped forward instantly.
"Take a squad. Depart for C53 at once. Discover what happened. Find the Power Source. Bring it back!"
Talo's face was resolute, his voice carrying the weight of a soldier who had never once failed. "Yes, Commander!"
…
Florida, United States. A desolate wilderness.
The night sky split open with fire.
Whoooosh!
A sleek Kree starship descended like a falling star, its hull gleaming with alien alloys, trails of plasma spewing as it braked against Earth's atmosphere. The very ground quaked as it landed, scorching a wide circle of land into glass.
The hatch hissed open.
Talo strode out first, tall and imposing in his blue-and-silver combat suit, flanked by half a dozen Kree soldiers, each armed with weapons far beyond anything Earth could comprehend.
With a flick of his wrist, Talo activated the gauntlet mounted on his forearm.
Hum! A holographic projection screen unfolded in midair, glowing symbols dancing across its surface. His fingers tapped swiftly, entering commands in Kree script.
Behind him, the starship shimmered—then vanished from sight.
Cloaking technology.
To Earth, such a feat belonged to fantasy. To the Kree, it was basic.
Talo's lips curved faintly. The gap between civilizations was laughable.
Moments later, a flashing marker appeared on the projection before him. His eyes gleamed.
"Found it."
He and his squad advanced, crossing rough terrain until they reached what, to any human eye, was nothing but empty ground.
But to Talo, it was exactly the opposite.
"Bring the equipment."
Two soldiers hurried forward, handing him a compact device bristling with unfamiliar rods and crystalline nodes. Talo keyed in a sequence.
Beep-beep-beep!
The air shimmered, reality itself twisting as though pulled like fabric.
Whooom!
A massive warship flickered into view, materializing from invisibility.
It was the Kree infiltrators' hidden ship—perfectly intact, concealed here all along.
"Open it."
Hacking into the ship's systems, Talo bypassed its locks with ruthless efficiency. The hatch creaked open.
Leaving guards outside, he led a handful of soldiers in. The interior lights flickered to life as the ship recognized Kree authority.
Talo moved quickly, pulling up logs from the vessel's central console. Lines of data scrolled rapidly across the screen.
At first glance, everything seemed normal.
Routine infiltration reports. Progress logs. Surveillance notes.
But there was a problem.
All of them ended abruptly.
Not one contained mention of resistance. Not one recorded signs of compromise. There was no escalation, no request for support. The logs simply… stopped.
Talo's frown deepened.
It was as if the infiltrators had been erased in an instant—obliterated so thoroughly they hadn't even had time to record their final moments.
A silent massacre.
And that meant only one thing.
On C53, there was a power—unknown, unseen, and terrifying—that had just declared war on the Kree.
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