In the endless expanse of dark space, a sleek spacecraft cut through the space void like a silver needle threading through black velvet. Though it hadn't engaged its jump drive, the ship's advanced propulsion system pushed it forward at tremendous velocity, its hull gleaming faintly against the starlit backdrop.
"Bill, are you absolutely certain your people were here?" Looma's voice carried a note of growing impatience as she piloted the ship with practiced precision. Her four scarlet eyes swept across the navigation displays, scanning the empty darkness for any trace of the missing Korbinite fleet. The void stretched endlessly in all directions, offering nothing but the cold silence of space.
The Horse-Faced Warrior—Beta Ray Bill emerged from the ship's rear compartment, his expression etched with frustration and mounting anxiety. His usually composed demeanor had cracked under the weight of uncertainty, and when he spoke, his voice carried the tremor of barely contained desperation.
"This is where I said farewell to them," Bill replied, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "After that final moment, my team and I deliberately provoked Surtur's Fire Demon Warriors to draw them away from the evacuation route. We lost all contact with the main fleet after that engagement."
The logic should have been simple, straightforward. Every Korbinite civilian aboard their massive ark-ship had been placed in cryogenic suspension, their bodies frozen in peaceful slumber while the automated systems guided them along the predetermined course Bill had programmed. The ship should have been following that exact trajectory, moving with the steady predictability of clockwork.
But they had traced the entire route without finding so much as a debris field or energy signature. The absence gnawed at Bill's consciousness like a persistent wound, each passing moment amplifying his unease.
"Could it be that someone awakened early and altered the course?" Korg suggested from his position at the communication console, his rocky features creased with concern. The stone-skinned Kronan had witnessed enough disasters to know that even the most carefully laid plans could unravel in unexpected ways.
The possibility seemed remote—the cryogenic protocols were designed to prevent such occurrences—but in their current predicament, Bill found himself grasping at even the most unlikely explanations. It was easier than contemplating the alternatives.
He turned toward Looma, his expression softening with genuine gratitude despite his inner turmoil. "Princess Looma, I cannot express how deeply I appreciate your assistance. I should handle the remainder of this search myself. You've already done more than I had any right to ask."
Initially, Looma had harbored no intention of bringing Bill along on this venture. Her schedule was already packed with preparations for her upcoming wedding to Ben, and she had been consumed with the task of assembling the perfect collection of betrothal gifts. Every moment spent away from that crucial mission felt like time stolen from her future happiness.
But as she had worked on constructing the ship's enhanced engine systems, a different consideration had taken root in her mind. She was now a member of the Plumbers, and mutual aid was precisely the kind of behavior that would please Ben. The decision to assist Bill in rescuing the Korbinite survivors had seemed like the perfect opportunity to demonstrate her commitment to their shared values.
Additionally, the prospect of engaging Surtur's demonic forces in battle had held its own appeal. Combat always provided excellent opportunities to test new equipment and tactics.
Unfortunately, the entire expedition had proven to be a complete failure on that front. Without enemies to fight or challenges to overcome, Looma's interest had begun to wane considerably. Though she genuinely wanted to help Bill reunite with his people, her inability to locate them left her feeling powerless and increasingly restless.
At that precise moment, the spacecraft's communication system chimed with an incoming transmission. Looma reached over and activated the display, causing a familiar green figure with short, dark hair to materialize in a shimmering holographic projection.
Looma's expression immediately soured, her lips pulling into a slight frown of distaste. She had never particularly liked Loki, considering him weak and unreliable compared to the more straightforward warriors she preferred to associate with.
"I'm here to provide a warning," Loki began without preamble, completely ignoring the obvious disapproval in Looma's gaze. To be perfectly honest, most Asgardians regarded him with similar expressions of disdain, so he had long since become immune to such looks. "You need to maintain heightened vigilance in that sector."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing with greater urgency. "Our ship's sensors have detected traces of a very specific energy signature lingering in the surrounding area. If my analysis is correct, it was most likely left behind by the Collector."
Loki possessed considerable knowledge regarding the Collector, one of the ancient beings known as the Elders of the Universe.
"The Collector?" Looma's four eyes suddenly blazed with an intensity that resembled polished rubies catching firelight. "Who exactly is that?"
Even without knowing the specifics, the name alone suggested someone who possessed extensive collections of valuable items. Perhaps she could obtain the perfect betrothal gifts directly from this mysterious figure's hoard! The more she considered the possibility, the more her excitement built.
Loki immediately recognized the dangerous gleam in her eyes and felt a chill of alarm. "Please tell me you're not seriously considering robbing the Collector..."
Even someone as accustomed to chaos and mischief as Loki found himself genuinely frightened by Looma's audacious line of thinking. He had initially intended to emphasize just how terrifying and dangerous the Collector could be, but he quickly realized that such descriptions would only make the ancient being sound like more tempting prey to someone with Looma's aggressive mindset.
Hastily changing his approach, he continued, "From what I understand, the Collector has always maintained a particular fascination with endangered species and rare creatures. If those Korbinite refugees were discovered and taken by him, their lives should be relatively safe."
In the comic book, the Collector's motivation for preserving endangered species stemmed from Thanos's universe-wide campaign of genocide. The Mad Titan had been systematically exterminating life across the cosmos as offerings to Death herself. To preserve the biological diversity that Thanos sought to destroy, the Collector had been gathering representatives of threatened species and housing them within his vast exhibition halls.
From that perspective, the Collector's mission aligned almost perfectly with the goals of Plumbers. Both sought to preserve life that might otherwise be lost to space threats.
"In that case, we should seek out this Collector immediately," Looma declared with decisive authority. "Loki, transmit his coordinates to me at once."
"The Collector's current location should be in a place called Knowhere," Loki replied, but his expression grew troubled as he continued. "However..."
He studied Looma's eager face and seemed to struggle with something he was reluctant to say. He know that most Elders of the Universe possessed abilities that bordered on the godlike, with immunity to conventional physical attacks being merely their most basic defensive capability. Looma's straightforward combat style would likely prove ineffective against such an opponent.
Moreover, as a rare species called Tetramand, Looma herself might become an irresistible addition to the Collector's exhibition. The rarity that made her valuable to their cause could equally make her a target.
Although he found Looma's domineering personality grating, Loki was acutely aware of her relationship with Ben. He could never allow her to walk into such obvious danger, not when it might jeopardize the delicate alliances they had worked so hard to build.
After a moment of internal debate, he made a decision that would have horrified his ancestors—he chose to deliberately deceive her for her own protection.
"Your Highness Princess Looma," he began with careful casualness, "I recently learned about a planet that serves as home to numerous ice and snow creatures that might interest you far more than a dangerous encounter with an Elder of the Universe..."
Even as he spoke, Loki offered a silent, thoroughly insincere apology to his biological father. He felt no genuine remorse for what he was about to do. Laufey had abandoned him as an infant, leaving him to die in the ruins of war, and therefore had forfeited any claim to paternal loyalty. Loki had never wanted to acknowledge his identity as a Frost Giant, and he certainly felt no obligation to protect Jotunheim from potential invasion.
"Ice creatures!" Looma's excitement reached fever pitch, her entire demeanor transforming as if she had been injected with pure adrenaline. The prospect of obtaining rare frozen specimens for her betrothal collection made her practically vibrate with anticipation.
"I've already transmitted the coordinates to your navigation system," Loki continued smoothly. "In Asgardian territories, that planet is known as Jotunheim. Besides the Frost Giants, numerous other species of giants inhabit that realm. Successfully conquering that planet would be equivalent to obtaining the ultimate ice-based treasures for your collection."
To Loki's surprise, Looma shook her head firmly and rejected his suggestion outright. This response initially pleased him—at least she hadn't completely lost her rational thinking to excitement and wasn't planning to single-handedly assault an entire planet.
However, his relief proved to be premature.
"Combat is certainly appealing," Looma said with obvious disdain, "but what real value would there be in conquering some frozen wasteland? I require truly valuable treasures—something worthy of my extraordinarily brave husband!"
She raised all four of her fists into the air and shouted her declaration with passionate conviction.
"Very well, Bill, I'll transport you to Knowhere as requested." Looma spun around abruptly and strode toward the ship's exit with purposeful steps. "This ship is yours to command. I'll be departing in one of the smaller scout ships."
Loki breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Looma seemingly abandon her plan to confront the Collector in favor of conquering Jotunheim. He had calculated that Looma's power exceeded those of Thor before he had lost Mjolnir. Even if something went catastrophically wrong, she possessed the strength to hold her ground until reinforcements could arrive.
In truth, as long as the truly space-level threats didn't involve themselves personally, Looma could navigate most dangers the universe might throw at her. The combined power that their alliance had assembled represented a significant force throughout the known universe.
Within minutes, Looma had departed in a compact but well-armed scout ship, following the coordinates that Loki had provided. Inside the main ship, Loki's holographic projection remained active, inputting the navigational data for Knowhere into Bill's system.
"Although I have never personally visited Knowhere," Loki cautioned as the coordinates loaded, "it's widely known as a gathering place for beings from across the galaxy—many of them dangerous. You would be wise to exercise extreme caution. The reason I sent Looma away is precisely because she has an unfortunate tendency to initiate conflicts with others. If your mission devolved into a massive battle, it would complicate everything unnecessarily."
Bill nodded in understanding, his expression grave but composed. Unlike Looma's volatile nature, he possessed a much calmer and more analytical temperament. Diplomacy and careful negotiation would serve him better than brute force in the complex environment they were about to enter.
With their team now split into two separate missions, both groups began moving toward their respective destinations. Before terminating the communication link, Loki seemed to remember something important and added almost as an afterthought, "By the way, when you reach Knowhere, make certain to collect some soil samples from the surface."
With that cryptic instruction, he severed the connection without providing any further explanation, leaving Bill and Korg to puzzle over his meaning.
Korg looked thoroughly confused by Loki's parting words, his rocky features creased with bewilderment. "What could he possibly want with dirt from that place?"
"Legend claims that Knowhere was once the head of a celestial," Loki explained, his voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "After this celestial death, his massive skull became the foundation for what we now call Knowhere."
Hearing this explanation, Bill began to understand the implications. As someone who had witnessed Ben's remarkable transformations firsthand, he was familiar with the mysterious nature of his leader's abilities.
"The last time we saw Ben in combat against the Caiera, he took on the appearance of a Shadow People," Bill mused thoughtfully. "Do you believe he possesses the power to transform into members of other species entirely, maybe using their gene?"
Loki nodded slowly, his expression turning contemplative. "That seems to be the most logical explanation for what we've observed."
Ben had ever revealed the true secret of the Omnitrix to their allies, but both Loki and Bill had managed to deduce portions of the truth through careful observation and analysis. However, they had incorrectly concluded that the transformations were the result of some innate superpower rather than advanced alien technology.
"Is the power of this celestial particularly formidable?" Bill asked with genuine curiosity.
Loki leaned against the ship's wall, his expression growing distant as he considered the question. "I cannot say with absolute certainty, but logic suggests that any creature of such immense proportions would possess considerable strength. Even if the actual combat capabilities prove underwhelming, the sheer size alone would serve as an enormous psychological deterrent."
While Loki's strategic thinking was sound and his concern for Ben's welfare was genuine, his understanding of the situation contained a crucial flaw. The soil of Knowhere likely contained no usable genetic material from the ancient celestial being.
Knowhere had existed as a stable location for countless millennia, its gravitational field steadily attracting and accumulating space dust and debris from across the galaxy. The surface soil consisted primarily of this accumulated matter rather than organic remains. If any traces of the original celestial's essence still existed, they would be found in the mineral deposits deep within the Void's structure.
Those mineral veins represented the true skeletal remains of the godly being—and they had earned Knowhere its secondary designation as "The Mine."
Meanwhile, far from the space adventures of the Plumbers members, a different kind of crisis was unfolding in the familiar streets of New York City. With a thunderous crash that shook the entire building, the reinforced wall of the Daily Bugle newspaper office exploded inward, sending chunks of concrete and twisted metal flying across the newsroom floor.
Through the smoking breach leaped Kraven the Hunter, his muscular frame draped in the primitive pelts and savage trophies of countless successful hunts. His wild mane of dark hair flowed behind him as he moved with predatory grace, his eyes gleaming with the focused intensity of a apex predator who had finally cornered his prey.
Without hesitation, Kraven's powerful hand shot out and seized J. Jonah Jameson by the collar of his expensive suit jacket. The elderly newspaper editor, who had spent years using his publication as a platform to wage a relentless propaganda campaign against Spider-Man, suddenly found himself lifted off his feet like a rag doll.
Kraven carried the struggling publisher to the edge of the building's shattered wall, where the cold wind whipped through the opening and the streets of Manhattan stretched out far below. Jameson's legs dangled helplessly in the air, his usually authoritative voice reduced to panicked gasps as he stared down at the deadly drop.
Despite his obvious terror, the old man's characteristic stubbornness remained intact. His weathered face had flushed bright red with a mixture of fear and indignation, but he refused to show any sign of submission to his captor.
"What do you want from me?" Jameson demanded, his voice cracking slightly but still carrying its familiar tone of aggressive defiance.
Outside in the main newsroom, the Daily Bugle's staff members had gathered in horrified clusters, watching the scene unfold with helpless fascination. After several moments of shocked paralysis, Robbie Robertson—Jameson's longtime friend and the paper's city editor—finally found the courage to step forward into the danger zone.
Kraven's wild eyes fixed on the terrified publisher with predatory intensity, his grip tightening on Jameson's collar as he posed his crucial questions: "Tell me, old man—who has been photographing Spider-Man? Who knows where to find the web-slinger?"