The ruined conference venue resembled a battlefield from some ancient war—bodies scattered across scorched metal floors, the overwhelming stench of blood and burnt flesh saturating the recycled atmosphere.
Most of the corpses wore Incurseans uniforms. The combat capability of those amphibian soldiers had proven woefully inadequate for interstellar warfare—equivalent to dropping ordinary Earth infantry into a battle between starships. They'd been guaranteed casualties from the moment fighting started.
But the other empires hadn't escaped unscathed either.
"Don't talk to me about 'unscathed,'" King J'son of the Spartoi Empire snarled, delivering another vicious kick to Emperor Milleous's bound form. The captive emperor was trussed up like a prize pig, completely helpless. "The Incurseans Empire has surrounded the entire Behemoth Star Ring. That massive Death Ray Cannon is pointed directly at our heads! We're all dead—it's just a question of whether we die sooner or later!"
He punctuated his words with additional kicks, each one harder than the last.
J'son had excellent reasons for his fury. His Spartoi Empire had been the first civilization to bend the knee to the Incurseans, surrendering their sovereignty in exchange for protection and favorable trade terms. Now those same overlords were staging a coup, and the new regime apparently planned to execute everyone associated with the old emperor—including all his client states.
Of course J'son didn't want to die! That was the entire reason he'd surrendered in the first place—survival!
The moment Attea had revealed the Death Ray Cannon, J'son had frantically attempted to contact the Incurseans flagship, desperate to pledge loyalty to the new regime.
Attea's response had been brutally pragmatic: You're an idiot. Even if I kill you, the Spartoi Empire will still belong to me. Your survival is irrelevant.
That pronouncement had made every face among the Incurseans client civilizations go pale with horror. They'd sold their independence for protection, and now they were learning that protection was worthless.
The other had tried to negotiate, pointing out that they'd sent massive delegations to support the Incurseans presence at this conference. If those delegates were executed, their entire criminal network would collapse—surely that deserved some consideration?
Attea hadn't cared in the slightest.
There's always more scum in the universe, she'd said. You're replaceable.
Now a large mob of delegates surrounded Milleous, taking turns beating him to vent their impotent rage and terror.
Milleous screamed with each impact, his corpulent body absorbing punishment that would have killed a frailer being. But curiously, he didn't seem particularly sad about his situation.
If anything, he felt... proud.
His daughter had finally grown up. Usurping the throne through patricide was an honored tradition among the Incurseans—a rite of passage that separated true rulers from weak pretenders. Anyone too cowardly to murder their own father didn't deserve to sit on the throne!
The Incurseans had to be cruel. It was their defining characteristic.
Attea had demonstrated that cruelty early in life. Otherwise, how could a licentious emperor like Milleous have only one surviving child? The answer was simple: Attea had systematically murdered all her siblings before they could threaten her position.
Milleous didn't feel grief over his impending execution. The competition for succession had always worked this way in Incurseans culture. The dead were weak, unworthy of inheriting power. Only the strong—the ruthless, the cunning, the absolutely merciless—deserved to rule.
"What do we do now?" Someone in the crowd wrung their hands, their expression suggesting they'd already accepted death. "Those frogs have sealed off the entire Star Ring. Even if reinforcements are coming, they can't arrive in time."
It wasn't for lack of trying. Multiple delegates had attempted to break through the blockade, launching their personal transports toward open space.
Every single ship had been vaporized instantly, blown apart by tracking missiles the moment they cleared the Ring's atmosphere. Like mosquitoes flying into an electric bug zapper—a brief spark, then nothing but ash.
Captain Marvel's expression was relatively calm compared to the others. She'd sent Nick Fury away before the Incurseans fleet arrived, ensuring his ship escaped before the blockade sealed. He was safe, at least.
As for herself—the Death Ray Cannon probably couldn't kill her. She'd absorbed the energy output of entire stars before. One oversized laser, no matter how powerful, likely wouldn't be sufficient to overcome her cosmic-level durability.
But if possible, she still hoped to save the other survivors. Many of them were important Plumber personnel, people who'd dedicated their lives to making the galaxy safer.
"Lady Caiera," Carol called out, her voice cutting through the rising panic, "do you have any way to counter the Death Ray Cannon?"
Her question drew every eye in the vicinity. The assembled survivors suddenly realized something critical: the Kree delegates had vanished during the chaos. Queen Veranke was nowhere to be found. In the blink of an eye, among the three major empires, only the Plumbers remained standing.
"Yes! You Plumbers are one of the four great empires!" J'son seized on the opening, rallying the Ravagers to join his chorus of demands. "You're also the organizers of this conference! You have responsibility for our safety!"
Red Skull, standing nearby, physically backed away from J'son and his mob, his body language screaming I don't know these idiots.
He'd been captured by Steve Rogers earlier, but had managed to escape during the fighting. The submission disc was still attached to his body, though, preventing any aggressive action. Better to stay quiet and unnoticed than draw attention.
"SILENCE!"
Beta Ray Bill's hammer crashed down like a thunderbolt, lightning exploding outward in a blinding flash. The display of raw power instantly suppressed the brewing riot, fear overriding desperation.
Whether the Death Ray Cannon could kill them was uncertain. But Bill's hammer could definitely kill them, and he was close enough to reach every complaining delegate.
Besides, they'd never been friends to begin with. The conference had devolved into open warfare. Nobody could legitimately complain if Bill decided to execute troublemakers.
At that moment, "Steve Rogers" returned from outside, his shield strapped to his back. Norman and Harry spotted him immediately, moving closer to speak quietly.
"Captain, where have you been?" Norman asked, concern evident in his voice. "We've been searching everywhere for you."
"Chasing after Milleous," Steve replied, his tone apologetic. "Got turned around in the chaos. This facility is a maze." He shook his head ruefully. "I can't believe the Incurseans were brazen enough to surround the entire Star Ring. I didn't expect such extreme action."
Hearing this, Harry and Norman exchanged glances, both unable to hide their strange expressions.
Unexpected?
"But hasn't it been obvious for a long time that—" Harry began.
Norman grabbed his son's arm with a stern look, smoothly cutting off the sentence. "Yes, the situation escalated rapidly. Fortunately, we made preparations for possible contingencies."
"That's good to hear." Steve adjusted his uniform and found a piece of rubble to sit on, settling in to observe the proceedings.
Once the survivors had mostly quieted down, Caiera spoke, her silver features composed and authoritative. "We did implement safety measures to prevent outside interference with the conference. That much is true."
She paused, letting the implication sink in. "However, now that the conference has been violently disrupted, the Plumbers have no continuing obligation to protect delegates who actively participated in that disruption. The Death Ray Cannon requires time to charge its primary weapon. I suggest you all evacuate immediately while that window exists."
The statement landed like a bomb. Multiple faces went pale with horror.
Leave? When even a mosquito trying to fly through the atmosphere would be targeted by tracking missiles? That was suicide, not evacuation!
"Wait, wait, Lady Caiera." King J'son's regal bearing evaporated completely, replaced by the manner of a desperate street hustler. "Don't be so harsh! We can negotiate! We believe in peace! We want to join the Plumbers!"
He was already preparing to switch sides again, loyalty as flexible as rubber.
"Won't that be... difficult for you?" Caiera asked gently, her tone suggesting she was a kind older sister concerned only with their wellbeing.
"Not at all!" The king of some minor, unnamed civilization immediately leaped at the opportunity, and others quickly followed his lead.
"Actually, we've been secretly loyal to the Plumbers for years! We were only constrained by pressure from the other empires!"
"The Plumbers are wonderful! The Plumbers don't demand tribute!"
"Honestly, we've considered ourselves half Plumber for a long time now!" An alien with an enormously oversized nose spoke so quickly his words blurred together.
Carol stared in disbelief. Even space-faring civilizations have flexible loyalties and no shame whatsoever.
"In that case," Caiera said smoothly, "please wear these."
She gestured, and several Plumber officers approached carrying large containers filled with submission discs—the same neural disruptors that had been used on prisoners earlier.
Even delegates who were furious about the implication had no choice but to grit their teeth and attach the devices. The alternative was facing the Death Ray Cannon without protection.
Caiera nodded with satisfaction. These opportunists didn't join the Plumbers out of any sense of justice or shared values. They joined because they were terrified of dying.
Without the control provided by the submission discs, they'd probably attempt to seize control of the Behemoth Ring's defenses the moment the shield activated. Better to ensure compliance through force than trust their sudden conversion.
"Activate the planetary shield," Caiera commanded.
Massive energy reserves channeled through the Ring's power grid, projecting outward in a spherical pattern. The shield materialized as countless regular hexagons—each one a node in the defensive matrix—forming a complete barrier around the Behemoth Star Ring.
Princess Attea frowned at the energy readout on her command console, watching the Death Ray Cannon's charging progress with growing impatience.
"What's going on? Why is the energy accumulation so slow today?" She drummed her fingers irritably on the armrest. "This is taking forever—"
The moment the Behemoth Star Ring's planetary shield activated, the Death Ray Cannon's charge meter jumped to 100% as though pre-programmed to respond to that exact trigger.
This was, naturally, Ben's doing. He'd carefully manipulated the weapon's power distribution systems, ensuring the charge would complete at precisely the right moment.
Attea's expression transformed into fanatic glee. She flipped open the protective shell covering the firing mechanism, her finger hovering over the activation button.
"Death Ray Cannon," she breathed, her voice trembling with anticipation, "FIRE!"