Behemoth Star Ring
The planet hung suspended in the void like a jewel encased in black metal. Massive rings rotated in synchronized orbits around its equator, their dark surfaces catching and reflecting the distant starlight in sharp, geometric patterns. Each ring was a marvel of engineering—thousands of kilometers in diameter, studded with weapon emplacements and shield generators that pulsed with barely contained energy.
This was the Behemoth Star Ring, the location chosen by the Plumbers for this critical galactic conference.
Natural meteorite belts drifted in complex orbital patterns around the planet, creating layers of protection that had taken millions of years to form. The asteroid field was dense enough to shred any approaching fleet that didn't know the safe navigation corridors, turning the entire system into a fortress that had never needed to fire a shot in anger. The star rings themselves had been added more recently—Plumber engineering at its finest, constructed on principles borrowed from the dwarven forges of Nidavellir.
"They serve dual purposes," Caiera explained to the assembled dignitaries, her silver skin gleaming under the station's lights as she gestured toward the viewport. The rings rotated majestically in the distance, their movements precise and hypnotic. "Each ring functions as both a defensive barrier and an offensive platform. Should anyone be foolish enough to attack during these proceedings, they would find themselves facing firepower equivalent to a small star going supernova."
Her words carried the weight of absolute certainty, and more than a few delegates shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
The assembled representatives murmured among themselves, impressed despite their attempts to maintain diplomatic composure. As the initiator of the Galactic Conference, the Plumbers had taken full responsibility for venue security and logistical coordination. The display of military and organizational might was not lost on anyone present.
Several veterans of galactic politics couldn't help but reflect on how dramatically the power landscape had shifted. When the last Galactic Conference had been held, the Sakaar Empire had been nothing more than an upstart civilization—powerful, certainly, but hardly the dominant force it had become. Most delegates had viewed it as a temporary phenomenon, a bright flash that would fade as quickly as it had risen.
How wrong they had been.
A mere handful of years had passed, yet the entire cosmic order had been turned on its head. The once-mighty Shi'ar Empire lay in ruins, its vaunted Imperial Guard scattered or dead. The mysterious Incurseans Empire had erupted from obscurity, drowning dozens of worlds in blood and conquest. Even the ancient rivalry between the Kree and Skrull Empires had reignited with renewed fury, their centuries-old conflict burning hotter than ever.
Through it all, Sakaar had risen to become not just a military power, but a symbol—a beacon of hope for worlds caught in the crossfire, and a mediator trusted even by civilizations that despised each other.
"Think about it carefully," Nick Fury muttered to Captain Marvel, who stood beside him with her arms crossed, "this whole thing was inevitable from the start." His single eye tracked the movements of various delegations through the observation deck, cataloging threats and alliances with the paranoia that had kept him alive for decades. "I realized what that kid was really about when I first met him on Earth. Going up against Ben Parker never ends well for anyone."
He still remembered their first encounter with perfect clarity—the casual way Ben had rattled off insults, the complete lack of fear when threatened, and that damned weapon pointed directly at his head. The memory made his jaw clench involuntarily.
"He seems like a decent person to me," Captain Marvel said, genuine confusion coloring her voice.
She'd had limited direct contact with Ben Parker, but her relationship with the Plumbers organization ran deep. Over the years, she'd accepted the role of non-staff operative, working alongside their forces on dozens of missions across the cosmos. The experience had given her a front-row seat to witness what the organization truly represented.
The Plumbers didn't have to get involved in half the conflicts they responded to. Many situations fell well outside their jurisdiction or strategic interests. Yet time and again, they showed up anyway—rescue teams deploying to disaster zones, medical ships arriving at plague-ravaged colonies, engineering corps rebuilding shattered infrastructure on worlds that would never be able to repay them.
She'd seen the reactions firsthand. Entire populations would weep with relief when that hourglass symbol appeared in their skies. Children would run toward Plumber soldiers instead of away from them. The phrase had become universal across a hundred languages: "The Plumbers are here. We're saved."
"The Plumbers are one thing," Nick Fury said, shaking his head with the air of someone who'd learned a hard lesson. "Ben Parker himself? That's a completely different story."
It was the same distinction he made between the Avengers as a team and the individuals who comprised it. Take any superhero out of that context, and you got a very different picture of who they really were.
Ben Parker, at his core, never took a loss. Ever.
Case in point: the destruction of the Shi'ar Empire. That entire catastrophe could be traced back to a single moment—Praetor Kallark's decision to challenge Ben at the last conference. If the arrogant fool had kept his mouth shut and his powers in check, he wouldn't have been so easily gutted by Vilgax, his cosmic energy drained like water from a broken vessel. Without their champion's death, the Shi'ar Empire wouldn't have been so catastrophically vulnerable when the Cursed Star forces came calling.
Kallark had brought it on himself, of course. Nick Fury felt no sympathy whatsoever for the fallen warrior. If anything, he thought Ben had been too merciful. If he'd been in Ben's position, he would have done worse—much worse. By the time Vilgax showed up, Kallark would have already been dead, and Nick would have been three steps into a plan to absorb the Shi'ar Empire into whatever power bloc served his interests.
Ben Parker was too soft sometimes. That was his only real weakness.
A familiar presence caught Nick's attention, and he turned to spot an old friend making his way through the crowd.
Steve Rogers stood out even among the exotic species and colorful delegations, his Plumber uniform crisp and his bearing military-perfect. He'd made quite a name for himself across the galaxy—after all, not many soldiers could lead from the front while carrying nothing but a vibranium shield emblazoned with that hourglass symbol.
His reputation had grown organically through a combination of tactical brilliance and the kind of old-fashioned integrity that most species had long since abandoned. Steve had commanded multiple front-line operations against the Incurseans forces, and every single engagement had ended in victory. More importantly, he'd managed those victories while minimizing civilian casualties—a feat that had earned him genuine respect from soldiers and civilians alike.
Steve's face lit up when he spotted Nick. The two men hadn't seen each other in years, not since the Hydra crisis that had torn SHIELD apart and sent Nick into self-imposed exile. For a moment, genuine warmth flooded through Steve's expression.
Then his gaze shifted slightly to the left, and his entire face went blank with shock.
"Hello, my honey!" Nick Fury's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness as he pulled his wife close, planting an enthusiastic kiss on her green-skinned cheek without a care for Steve's rapidly deteriorating mental state.
The old soldier's brain struggled to process what his eyes were seeing. A His old friend the spymaster enthusiastically making out with an alien who looked, for all intents and purposes, like a humanoid toad in a dress.
Steve's hand moved automatically, fishing a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and holding it out.
"I thought after seeing the Red Skull alive and well, nothing could surprise me anymore," he said, his voice flat with the resignation of a man whose worldview had just been shattered for the hundredth time since being thawed from the ice.
It seemed like every week since his revival had brought some new horror or absurdity. He'd gone from paying Tony when Thor turned out to have multiple siblings, to paying Peter when aliens turned out to be real, to paying basically everyone whenever some new impossibility became mundane reality. His wallet had become a monument to his own outdated assumptions about how the universe worked.
Nick Fury plucked the bill from Steve's fingers with smug satisfaction, adding it to what must have been a substantial collection by now. Sure, American currency was worthless in galactic trade, but that wasn't the point. The point was winning, and Nick savored every victory.
"Captain," Nick said with a shit-eating grin, "I don't think you understand at all."
The unsaid part hung in the air between them: You can't even imagine how happy it is to have a girlfriend who can shapeshift.
The seventy-year-old bachelor sighed, then forced his mind to more comfortable topics. "I haven't seen you since the Hydra incident ended. That safe house you set up through Ben saved our lives when everything went to hell." Steve's expression turned serious, curiosity replacing the shock. "So what's your situation now? Are you working with the Skrull Empire?"
"God, no." Nick Fury shook his head emphatically. "I'm completely independent."
His wife might be a Skrull, but she'd cut all official ties with the Empire years ago. Instead, Nick, Captain Marvel, and a small group of like-minded Skrull operatives had formed their own team—doing good work throughout the galaxy without answering to any government or organization.
They were essentially cosmic vigilantes with better funding and fewer psychological issues than most.
"Where's Ben?" Nick asked, scanning the crowd.
"Over there." Steve pointed toward a cluster of Plumber officers surrounding a figure in formal diplomatic attire. "But that's actually Peter Parker in disguise. The nano-mask technology is so perfect that even Ben's watch scanners can't detect the deception."
"Still playing his games, I see." Nick Fury wasn't even slightly surprised. That was pure Ben Parker—always three steps ahead, always with a contingency plan, always making sure he had the real advantage while everyone else thought they knew what was happening.
Nick made no move to approach. Not that he was afraid of being shot—he'd like to think their relationship had evolved past that particular dynamic—but the timing and context were all wrong. Ben was here representing the Sakaar Empire, playing the role of cosmic emperor. If he'd been attending as a private citizen, Nick would have already made his way over for drinks and gossip.
"I just hope this conference actually manages to stop the war," Nick said, his tactical mind already running through scenarios. "But I've got a bad feeling about the Incurseans. Those fanatics won't give up easily. They're worse than Hydra—at least Hydra understood the concept of strategic retreat."
Nick Fury's instincts were, as usual, dead on target. The Incurseans absolutely had ulterior motives.
Emperor Milleous was planning a surprise attack on all three major empires simultaneously, while his daughter Attea was plotting to assassinate her own father and seize control of the throne. Betrayal within betrayal, schemes within schemes—exactly the kind of multi-layered chaos that made galactic politics such a nightmare.
If it wasn't for the need to guard against exactly those kinds of plots, the Plumbers wouldn't have gone to such elaborate lengths constructing the Behemoth Star Ring's defenses.
But Steve didn't need to know all those details. Nick was a friend and former comrade, sure, but he wasn't a Plumber anymore. Hell, he'd never been one to begin with. They were friendly, but that was the extent of it now.
Old allies. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Try to find time to visit Earth," Steve said, genuine warmth returning to his voice. "Everyone misses you. Natasha asks about you constantly, and Clint refuses to believe you're actually happy playing house in space."
Nick nodded, the sentiment touching something he usually kept buried under layers of cynicism and paranoia. Then his eye caught movement at the far end of the docking bay, and he immediately pulled his wife back several steps.
"Looks like the main players are arriving," he muttered. "I won't keep you, but watch yourself out there, Steve. The Incurseans aren't the only enemies you need to worry about. Not by a long shot."
At the end of the corridor, the first delegation had begun to arrive. The Kree warriors were impossible to miss—tall figures with blue and pink skin tones, their military uniforms sharp and their posture aggressive.
Their ruler moved at the center of the formation, flanked by several imposing warriors whose very presence radiated power. Energy signatures flickered around them like heat shimmer, marking them as individuals who'd survived countless battles and emerged stronger each time.
The moment the Kree Tar-Rell spotted Caiera, his pace quickened, his expression shifting into something almost resembling diplomatic warmth.
"Dear King of Sakaar, and the honorable Lady Caiera," he said, his voice carrying the practiced smoothness of a career politician. "It has been far too long."
Caiera stepped forward to intercept him, her silver features betraying nothing. Peter's acting skills were adequate at best, and she had no intention of letting him fumble through a conversation that might expose the deception before the conference even began.
"Your presence honors this gathering," she said formally. "We are grateful that you accepted our invitation. May this conference bring an end to the bloodshed that has plagued us all."
The Kree king's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he replied, "The war has brought suffering to all our peoples. We sincerely hope that peace can be achieved here today." His gaze flickered past Caiera, landing on the figures approaching from the opposite corridor. His lip curled with barely concealed disgust. "Though I fear some parties may not share that noble goal."
Following behind the Kree delegation came representatives of the Skrull Empire—green-skinned, sharp-featured, and radiating hostility so thick it was almost visible. Queen Veranke led them personally, accompanied by a Super Skrull warrior whose very presence seemed to warp the air around him. The elite royal guards fanned out in perfect formation, looking less like diplomats and more like an invasion force preparing for battle.
"Well, well," the Super Skrull warrior said, his voice dripping with contempt as his eyes locked onto the blue-skinned Kree. "I thought I smelled something foul. It's just you space locusts."
The insult landed like a physical blow. "Space locusts" was one of the most offensive slurs in galactic common tongue when directed at the Kree—roughly equivalent to Earth's worst racial epithets, designed specifically to dehumanize and demean.
"Skrull scum!" The Kree king's diplomatic mask shattered instantly, his face flushing darker blue with rage. "You dare—"
The Accuser warriors surged forward, their universal weapons crackling with barely restrained power. Energy buildup hummed through the corridor, weapons charging, battle stances assumed.
The conflict was seconds away from turning violent before negotiations had even begun.
Nick Fury, watching from his distant vantage point, shook his head in resignation. Yeah, this conference was going to be a complete disaster. He'd seen this exact same dynamic play out at the UN dozens of times—ancient enemies forced into the same room, old wounds too fresh to ignore, pride too deeply ingrained to swallow.
THOOM.
The gravity field hit like a physical wall, catching everyone by surprise. One moment, both groups of warriors had been preparing to tear each other apart. The next, they were suspended helplessly in mid-air, weapons clattering to the floor as invisible forces pinned their limbs.
Peter had transformed without anyone noticing—his human appearance replaced by the powerful form of Gravattack, the Galilean's distinctive features radiating cosmic authority. His body had become a small planetoid, energy rings rotating around his core, gravity itself bending to his will.
With a simple gesture, he pulled the Kree and Skrull warriors apart, suspending them separately in the air like specimens in a museum display.
The transformation had been Ben's idea, a backup plan for situations exactly like this. Peter needed overwhelming force projection to maintain control, something that would make everyone think twice before starting trouble. So Ben had specially added Gravattack to Peter's watch—not the Ultimate form, but still devastatingly powerful.
Peter had also been given nine other aliens to choose from, He'd picked the ones that looked strong because, in his own words, "If I'm going to be pretending to be Ben at a galactic peace conference, I want to look completely badass while doing it."
The only one he couldn't access was Alien X. That particular transformation required Enara and Ouyana's direct consent, and those two cosmic beings weren't about to let anyone else play with reality-warping powers just because it might be politically convenient.
Peter lowered his hands, and with them, the suspended warriors. They crashed to the floor in undignified heaps, weapons scattered, dignity thoroughly trampled.
"We are all here for peace," Peter said, his voice resonating with gravitational harmonics that made the words feel heavier than normal speech. "If we cannot maintain basic civility before the conference even begins, then we make a mockery of everything this gathering represents."
Internally, Peter was absolutely loving this. Finally! After years of watching Ben casually dominate every situation, he got to experience that same rush of power. The ability to just wave your hand and make problems stop happening was incredible.
But on the surface, he maintained Ben's characteristic calm, the sense that nothing could truly surprise or threaten him.
The Galactic Conference was already a joke, Nick Fury thought darkly, observing the scene. It was exactly like the United Nations—a glorified forum for major powers to argue and posture, accomplishing nothing of substance while pretending their words mattered.
After all, peace had never been achieved through negotiation. It was always won through force, then maintained through the threat of more force.
But not everyone shared Nick's cynicism.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" A voice boomed across the docking bay, followed by the distinctive sound of flesh squelching against metal.
Emperor Milleous had arrived.
The Incursean ruler was draped in enough gold and jewels to fund a small fleet, his corpulent form gleaming with decorative excess. Rows upon rows of cursed star frogs prostrated themselves before him, creating a living carpet for the emperor to walk upon. Their skinny bodies compressed under his weight, bones creaking audibly, but none dared to move or cry out.
The display was grotesque enough to make several diplomats turn away in disgust.
Milleous seemed oblivious to the reactions, his beady eyes fixed on the Galilean figure with something approaching genuine delight. Behind him shuffled several zombie-like members of the Vreedle family—obviously clones, based on their identical vacant expressions. Ma Vreedle herself was notably absent from the group.
"So you are the wise and patient Galilean the universe speaks of!" Milleous exclaimed, his voice carrying undertones of relief. "If you have convened this Galactic Conference, then I can rest easy."
He'd come to this meeting knowing full well that both the Kree and Skrulls would happily skin him alive if given half a chance. The risk had been enormous. But if a Galilean was mediating—a species renowned throughout the cosmos for their unshakable neutrality and infinite patience—then his personal safety was practically guaranteed.
He could also use that famous patience to his advantage, drawing out negotiations for as long as possible while his daughter executed the real plan.
Let them talk, Milleous thought gleefully. Soon all three empires will belong to the Incurseans Empire, and I, Emperor Milleous, will be the beacon that guides the entire universe toward its glorious future!
"MILLEOUS!"
Both the Kree King and Queen Veranke forgot their mutual hatred instantly, their rage unifying and redirecting toward the Incursean emperor. Their expressions promised violence—torture, dismemberment, the kind of creative brutality that required hours of dedicated effort.
But for all their fury, they couldn't act on those impulses. Not here. Not now.
Milleous had played them both, secretly supporting the Incurseans Empire's expansion while maintaining diplomatic relations with their governments. But that betrayal couldn't be made public—not without revealing their own complicity in various black ops programs and shadow wars. Admitting they'd been manipulated would damage their credibility beyond repair.
So they could only swallow their rage and play along with the diplomatic theater.
"Everyone of importance has arrived," Caiera announced, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Please, take your assigned seats. The Galactic Conference will now begin."
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