While the Galactic Conference proceeded inside the Behemoth Star Ring, Princess Attea's forces were already in motion across the cosmos. Her strategy was elegant in its brutality—strike everywhere simultaneously, overwhelm through coordinated chaos, and claim victory before anyone realized they were already losing.
Ma Vreedle's nightmarish biological army had split into two massive wings. One horde surged toward the Kree Empire's heartland, while the other descended upon Skrull territory. Both prongs were aimed directly at critical infrastructure planets, the kind of strategic targets whose loss would cripple an empire's ability to coordinate resistance.
The original plan had called for Dr. Psychobos to lead his Waybad army against Sakaar itself—an undefended target ripe for conquest while the Plumbers' forces were occupied elsewhere.
But the treacherous scientist had convinced Attea to alter her strategy.
"It would be a criminal waste to deploy my masterpiece against an unprotected planet," Dr. Psychobos had argued during their last communication, stroking his antennae in a gesture reminiscent of a villain from ancient Earth cinema. His tone dripped with scientific arrogance, the kind of superiority complex that came from genuinely believing himself smarter than everyone else in the room.
And to be fair, he did possess a certain megalomaniacal brilliance.
"That bearer of the Omnitrix is also present at the Behemoth Ring," Psychobos continued, his compound eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Nearly all of Sakaar's military strength is concentrated there. I fear your Death Ray Cannon alone may prove insufficient firepower to guarantee success."
He leaned closer to the camera, his expression intense. "Send the Waybads with the main assault force. I want to defeat Azmuth's invention in direct combat! A true test of superior intellect and engineering!"
"Your reasoning is sound," Attea murmured, half-reclining against Ben's lap in a position that would have scandalized her father's court.
She'd been experiencing the perks of impending queenship rather thoroughly. In the old days, she would never have dared to lounge so casually with a male attendant, let alone one this aesthetically pleasing. Her father's strict protocols and endless supervision had made even basic pleasures impossible.
But I haven't even killed Father yet, she thought, a spike of guilt piercing through her satisfaction. I haven't secured complete control of the Incurseans Empire. How can I already be indulging like this?
Attea slammed her fist against the armrest of her command throne, the impact echoing through the bridge. "No! I need to focus! This is exactly the kind of weakness that destroys empires before they're even born!"
Then she immediately rolled over, pressing her face more comfortably against Ben's thigh.
Dr. Psychobos raised his optical sensors in an expression that might have been disbelief or disgust—the Cerebrocrustacean equivalent was hard to read. Finding the display unbearable to witness, he severed the communication link and began issuing orders to his secondary planetary battleships, redirecting them toward the Behemoth Star Ring.
His anticipation was almost palpable, transmitted through every gesture and movement. He couldn't wait to deploy his army of Waybads, to watch them systematically dismantle the Behemoth Ring's defenses, to prove once and for all his superiority over that smug Galvan.
"Azmuth!" he crowed to the empty command center, his voice echoing off metal walls. "This time, I win! Your pathetic little inventions are nothing compared to my technological mastery! I'm being generous by even acknowledging you as competition!"
His laughter filled the ship, manic and triumphant, the sound of a mad scientist who'd already written victory into his personal narrative.
What Dr. Psychobos failed to notice was the subtle change in his cargo hold. The Waybads who should have been dormant in their massive nutrient tanks had opened their eyes. Hundreds of those eyes, cold and calculating, tracked his movements through internal sensors.
They watched him with the detached interest of gods observing insects—aware, conscious, and waiting for the right moment to act.
Outside the Conference Chamber
The secret invasion had already begun.
Several Skrull warriors stood at their posts outside the main conference chamber, weapons held in textbook-perfect ready positions. They'd been on high alert since the conference started, knowing that tensions between the major powers could explode into violence at any moment.
When they spotted Queen Veranke approaching alone from down the corridor, resplendent in her formal state robes, confusion rippled through their ranks.
"Your Majesty?" The squad leader stepped forward, his weapon lowering slightly. "Has something happened? Is the conference already concluded?"
"Our mission—" another warrior began.
The words died in his throat as a black claw erupted through Queen Veranke's chest from behind, the curved talons closing around her throat with crushing force. Blood sprayed across pristine floor panels.
Then the queen's beautiful form rippled and dissolved like a mirage, revealing the true nature of the creature beneath. An Highbreed stood where Veranke had been—a pale, elongated humanoid with too many joints and eyes that reflected no light.
The Highbreed species represented an evolutionary dead end, a race that had achieved biological perfection only to discover that perfection meant genetic stagnation. In their desperation to survive, they'd developed a horrifying solution: inject their collapsing genetic code into other species, creating puppet soldiers that were essentially incomplete Highbreed clones.
These puppet-orcs occupied a strange space in the Highbreed hierarchy—simultaneously tools and abominations, useful but despised.
The remaining Skrull warriors finally processed what they were seeing, their training overriding shock. Weapons snapped up, targeting solutions calculated, mouths opening to sound the alarm—
A massive shadow fell over them from behind.
The pale Highbreed moved with impossible speed, its arm sweeping through the air in a horizontal arc. All four Skrull warriors were caught in that single strike, their bodies lifted off the ground and flung against the far wall hard enough to crack metal plating.
The Skrulls were genuinely one of the galaxy's premier species, their capabilities well-balanced with no glaring weaknesses. They weren't just adequate in multiple areas—they excelled in nearly every category simultaneously.
Strength that exceeded most heavy-combat species. Speed that crushed the vast majority of space-faring races. Intelligence that placed them in the top percentile of known civilizations. They were hexagonal warriors in the truest sense, superior in every measurable way.
An enhanced version of the already-formidable Tetramand species.
And now, through their recent acquisition of Kree biotechnology, they'd become even more dangerous.
"The power from those Kree subjects has indeed catalyzed unexpected changes in our species," a second Highbreed emerged from the shadows, examining its own clawed hands with clinical interest. The membranes between its fingers were thicker now, the bone structure denser.
"That incomplete Tesseract energy has made us significantly stronger," it observed.
"Perhaps we should start referring to ourselves as Ultimate Highbreed," the first one suggested, though its tone carried notes of melancholy rather than triumph. "Though ultimately, it's meaningless. Our fundamental problem remains unsolved. That Tesseract energy increased our individual power, yes, but only for a handful of us. The majority of our population experienced accelerated genetic collapse under that energy's influence."
As it spoke, the Highbreed Human produced something that resembled a facehugger from ancient Earth horror films—a writhing organism of tentacles and probing appendages. This was the genetic key of the Highbreed Humans, the delivery system for their transformation virus.
The creature latched onto the nearest Skrull's face, its tentacles burrowing deep into brain tissue. The warrior's body convulsed, bones cracking and reforming as the transformation took hold. Within seconds, the proud Skrull soldier had been reduced to a hunched, bestial caricature of its former self—a half-orc abomination with dead eyes and slavering jaws.
"The genetic structure of this species is remarkably malleable," the Highbreed Human observed with scientific detachment. "Just as the Kree intelligence reported. The transformation process that normally requires hours is completed in mere moments."
Skrulls' greatest strength—their ability to shapeshift, to adapt their DNA to mimic other species—had become their fatal weakness. Their genes were designed to be changed easily. The facehugger parasites simply exploited that inherent flexibility, rewriting their code with terrifying efficiency.
Within minutes, every Skrull warrior in the corridor had been assimilated. The facehuggers remained attached to their faces, tentacles still embedded in neural tissue, maintaining constant control over their hijacked nervous systems.
The Highbreed produced another piece of technology—camouflage masks that distorted light frequencies and projected false images. When placed over the orcs' mutated features, the masks created perfect illusions, making the transformed creatures appear identical to their original Skrull forms.
The disguised orcs stood at attention, indistinguishable from loyal Skrull warriors. Ready to return to their homeworld. Ready to spread the infection to their entire species.
One race down. The rest of the universe to follow.
Just like the Kree before them.
The Kree Empire was already dying, though most of its citizens didn't know it yet. From the moment the Highbreed Humans had entered this universe, they'd been probing for weaknesses, searching for the perfect infiltration vector into Kree society.
The recent wars had provided exactly the opportunity they needed. Millions of Kree soldiers deployed to the front lines, leaving the Empire's core worlds undermanned and vulnerable. The Highbreed had slipped through the gaps in security, systematically replacing civilians in key population centers.
When the Kree king himself had approached them seeking an alliance, offering direct access to the Empire's leadership in exchange for military support, they'd known victory was inevitable.
Even now, Tar-Rell was no longer truly Kree. The thing sitting in that conference chamber wearing his face was an orc puppet, controlled by facehugger commands, playing out a scripted role in the Highbreed Humans' grand design.
The Galactic Conference was never about peace. It was a distribution mechanism, a way to spread genetic corruption across the entire known universe in a single coordinated strike.
Both Highbreed turned their attention toward the massive tower rising from the center of the Behemoth Star Ring—the structure housing the conference chamber itself.
"It's almost time," one of them whispered, anticipation thick in its voice.
As if responding to those words, a catastrophic explosion erupted from the tower's peak.
BOOOOOM!!!
The fireball expanded outward in a perfect sphere, flattening the top three levels of the structure and exposing the conference chamber to open space. Atmosphere rushed out in a screaming wind, carrying debris and loose objects toward the vacuum.
The Highbreed leaned forward, their enhanced vision piercing through smoke and flame to observe the results of their sabotage.
Then their pupils contracted to pinpoints, confusion flooding their expressions.
Something was walking through the fire. Something that shouldn't exist.
A chimera-like monstrosity emerged from the inferno, its form an impossible fusion of multiple organisms stitched together in defiance of biological law. Multiple heads swayed on elongated necks. Arms ending in different types of claws sprouted from asymmetrical torso segments. The creature's very existence violated every principle of evolutionary stability.
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