Ben had Attea trussed up like a turtle flipped on its back—limbs bound, completely helpless.
Her body was scrawny and unattractive by any standard, but that wasn't his concern. Three of his four hands were now occupied: one carrying Felicia, one carrying Looma, and one gripping the squirming Attea. He briefly considered hoisting Ma Vreedle onto his shoulder as well for maximum efficiency.
Then he glanced at her Bluto-like appearance—massive, hairy, and distinctly troll-shaped—and immediately decided against it.
"Give me your contact," Ma Vreedle said, her tone almost friendly now. "I'll contact you after I've settled my pretty boys somewhere safe."
Though she desperately wanted to meet May and exchange parenting wisdom immediately, she still had an entire planet's worth of Vreedle clones to relocate. Maternal responsibility demanded she handle her existing children before making social calls.
"No problem," Ben agreed. "What are you planning to do with Octagon and Rhomboid?"
He knew those two had been assigned to "protect" Emperor Milleous—a task they'd abandoned the moment their contract technically ended.
"They've wanted independence for years," Ma Vreedle said with a shrug. "I'll let them go establish their own operation."
The Vreedle family's survival strategy resembled the Inheritors in some ways—individual deaths didn't matter when clones could be mass-produced. But unlike those cosmic vampires, Ma Vreedle wasn't truly ruthless. Even Octagon and Rhomboid, whom she openly acknowledged as her least favorite sons, would be resurrected immediately if they died.
There would always be a place for them in the Vreedle family. That was simply how it worked.
Ma Vreedle departed, lumbering toward the hangar to secure her own transport.
But Attea hadn't given up struggling.
She writhed in Ben's grip like a green maggot, twisting and contorting while screaming at maximum volume: "Let me go, you ugly bastard! I'm a queen! You can't treat me like this!"
"Shut up."
SMACK!
Ben's free hand came down on her posterior with enough force to make the sound echo through the corridor.
Attea shrieked, the blow apparently quite painful despite Four Arms' attempt to moderate his strength. The Tetramand form was simply too powerful—even "gentle" taps carried considerable impact.
She immediately stopped struggling, her voice shifting to something plaintive and wounded. "Even if you're going to capture me... could you at least transform into Bullfrag first? I'd be more willing to cooperate that way."
"That's not your decision to make," Ben said flatly.
He carried his three captives toward the hangar at a rapid pace. Incurseans soldiers surrounded them along the route, weapons drawn and expressions uncertain, but none dared intervene with their princess held hostage.
The hierarchical gap between ordinary Incurseans soldiers and their royal family resembled the difference between worker ants and a queen ant. The former were disposable tools—literally interchangeable, many of them clones who looked identical—while the latter represented the genetic continuity of the entire species.
"Oof!" Attea grunted as Ben unceremoniously stuffed her into a commandeered spacecraft.
He then carefully positioned Felicia and Looma in secure crash couches, making sure their unconscious forms were properly restrained against potential acceleration forces.
Attea immediately protested from where she lay hogtied on the floor. "Hey! Why are you so gentle with them?! I'm your fiancée!"
Ben rolled his eyes hard enough to strain the muscles. "Is there a possibility—just consider this hypothetically—that the engagement was fake and they're my actual girlfriends?"
"It can become real!" Attea said instantly, her opportunism undiminished by captivity. "Think about it! You're the King of Sakaar, I'm the Queen of the Incurseans Empire. We're a perfect political match! Our alliance would reshape galactic power structures!"
Ben ignored her completely, turning toward the spacecraft's hull. His fist drew back, the Old Power channeling through his Tetramand musculature as red lightning crackled around his knuckles.
BOOM!!!
The single punch shattered the flagship's reinforced hull like tissue paper. Atmosphere explosively decompressed, the violent outflow dragging dozens of bean-sprout-thin Incurseans soldiers into the vacuum of space.
Ben leaped onto the commandeered spacecraft and sealed the hatch in one smooth motion. The engines ignited immediately, fusion torches blazing as the small craft accelerated toward the Behemoth Star Ring.
"Caiera, prepare support," Ben transmitted over secure channels.
"Understood. Be careful—multiple weapon systems have acquired target locks on your ship," Caiera replied, her voice professional despite the obvious concern.
Ben glanced at his rear sensors. Dozens of pursuit craft were following in formation, weapons hot, missile bays open.
He activated the general broadcast frequency and issued a formal statement: "Attention all Incurseans forces. Princess Attea is aboard this vessel and under my custody. Cease fire immediately and prepare to discuss terms of surrender."
He repeated the message for emphasis. "I repeat: Attea is my hostage. Cease all hostile action immediately and prepare to negotiate."
The weapons fire continued without pause. Apparently, the average Incurseans soldier didn't care much about their princess's survival.
Ben shoved the communicator toward Attea's face. "Speak. Make them stop."
Attea had been waiting for exactly this opportunity. She immediately unleashed a torrent of profanity that would have made a Ravager blush. "STOP SHOOTING, YOU IDIOTS! Are you trying to kill me too?! I'll have you all executed! Your entire clone batches will be sterilized!"
Hearing their queen's distinctive voice—and her equally distinctive threats—the Incurseans pilots finally became cautious. Weapons went cold. Pursuit craft backed off to a less aggressive distance.
But someone else wasn't concerned about Attea's wellbeing at all.
"Queen Attea's survival? That's none of my business! I'm being polite!" Dr. Psychobos's voice echoed through the flagship's communication system, dripping with contempt.
The Cerebrocrustacean scientist had noticed Ma Vreedle's departure. Excellent. With Attea dead, he could easily seize control of the Incurseans military apparatus.
"If I can lead my Waybads to conquer the universe," he continued, already fantasizing about his inevitable triumph, "that alone will prove my intelligence far exceeds Azmuth's! I'll be recognized as the greatest mind in galactic history!"
He scuttled toward the flagship's primary control center, his hyper-developed brain processing tactical scenarios at computer speed. Within moments, he'd hacked the main control systems and begun the Death Ray Cannon's charging sequence.
But he wasn't content with silent efficiency. He needed recognition.
"I am a Cerebrocrustacean! Dr. Psychobos! The true controller of the Incurseans Empire and the smartest being in fifty galaxies!" His voice boomed across every frequency, reaching even the Behemoth Star Ring's defenders.
Those who'd been anxiously watching for the combined assault of the Death Ray Cannon and Waybad army couldn't help but frown at the pompous declaration.
"Smartest in fifty galaxies? Shameless," Peter muttered, crossing his arms. "The smartest person I've ever met is Ben when he transforms into Grey Matter. That little guy can literally do anything."
"I agree completely," Caiera said, nodding.
"Steve Rogers" frowned with apparent seriousness, deeply offended by Dr. Psychobos's claim. The smartest and most intelligent race in the universe should be the Highbreeds! Everyone knows that!
But he couldn't say that aloud without revealing himself. Instead, he settled for generic disagreement: "Whoever the smartest being is, it's definitely not a Cerebrocrustacean. Those crabs are all arrogant hot air."
Inside the Spacecraft
Ben had already established communication with Dr. Psychobos.
Attea, still bound like a worm, could only crawl using her chin for locomotion. She inched her way toward the viewscreen and immediately began hurling abuse at the scientist.
"You stinking crab! You dare betray me and usurp my throne?!"
"I think you want to die! A painful, prolonged death involving all your internal organs!"
"Bullfrag, kill him for me! Crush his stupid brain!"
"Queen Attea," Dr. Psychobos said, stroking his antennae with theatrical calm, "didn't you acquire your throne through exactly the same method I'm employing? The hypocrisy is remarkable."
"That's completely different!" Attea shrieked. "The throne was mine by birthright! I'm a Incurseans! You're not even the right species! You're a prisoner who has no right to address me!"
"A prisoner has no right to lecture me about legitimacy," Dr. Psychobos replied smoothly, completely immune to her insults. His brain had calculated optimal emotional responses years ago.
He shifted his attention to Ben. "Ben Parker, successor to the Omnitrix. You technically have no standing to negotiate with me either, but since Azmuth isn't present in this universe, I'll magnanimously grant you the privilege of communication."
"It's fortunate Azmuth isn't here," Ben shot back. "Otherwise a creature with your deformed brain and pathetic arrogance wouldn't dare show its face. You'd be too busy hiding in whatever hole spawned you."
"YOU DARE COMPARE ME TO THAT SMUG FROG?!" Dr. Psychobos's composure shattered instantly.
He hated—hated—being compared to Azmuth and found wanting. That specific insult struck at the core of his entire existence.
After several seconds of impotent rage, the scientist forced himself to calm down. "Ben Parker, I advise you to choose your words carefully. Don't forget that the Death Ray Cannon and my army of Waybads are all targeting your pathetic vessel. I'm being generous by even speaking with you!"
His voice rose to a screech. "If you value your miserable life, bow your head and surrender immediately! Acknowledge my superiority!"
"Really? Then go ahead and try," Ben said, his tone almost bored. "I think you're nowhere near as intelligent as me, let alone Azmuth. Honestly, I've met smarter houseplants."
"REALLY?! THEN GO TO HELL!"
Dr. Psychobos completely lost control, his carefully constructed superiority complex collapsing into rage.
His original plan had been elegant: record Ben—wielder of the Omnitrix—surrendering in humiliation, then find some method to return to his home universe and show the footage to Azmuth. Victory would finally be his after all these years.
But if Ben was going to be this disrespectful, death was an acceptable alternative outcome.
Psychobos slammed his appendages against the firing controls. The Death Ray Cannon activated. Simultaneously, he transmitted attack commands to every Waybad in the fleet.
For one brilliant moment, the darkness of space transformed into blinding radiance. Hundreds of To'kustar specimens gathered cosmic energy, their crossed arms beginning to glow with the telltale buildup of the species' signature Cosmic Ray attack.
"It's over! We're dead!" Attea's voice cracked with genuine despair. "Why did you have to provoke him?!"
"Didn't you provoke him first?" Ben pointed out reasonably. "Besides, you literally asked me to kill him."
"I meant pretend to be nice first, THEN kill him when he's vulnerable, you idiot!" Attea wailed. "Now we're finished! Each Waybad has energy output comparable to the Death Ray Cannon! That many simultaneous attacks... there won't even be ash left! We'll be converted directly into plasma!"
She deflated completely, looking like a lonely, defeated frog.
"Forget everything else. I only have one wish now..."
"What?" Ben asked, genuinely curious despite the impending annihilation.
"Can you transform into Bullfrag before we die?" Attea's voice was small, almost childlike. "I want to die with Bullfrag. At least let me have that."
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