The group of thirteen had been flying for half a month, their days filled with nothing but the endless, star-drenched void and the occasional strangely shaped planet drifting by. Just as boredom threatened to swallow them whole, they finally approached a dense meteorite field.
This region was vast—tens of millions of kilometers across—its space littered with meteorites of every imaginable size, drifting silently in all directions. As they neared the outskirts, Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes and managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a black spaceship slipping into the field.
His heart leapt. Life! If they were lucky, he could even ask for directions.
He immediately led the Saints inward. But navigating a maze this enormous made finding another ship feel like searching for a needle lost in a galaxy. The Saints were soon scratching their heads, bewildered—until Gilgamesh released his divine will.
His consciousness spread through the entire region like a tidal wave, unraveling every detail of this meteorite field—its past events, its current state, and even faint impressions of what was yet to come.
He quickly learned the truth: this place was a hideout for space pirates, a tiny band that used the chaotic meteorites to hide from imperial forces. Their entire operation barely amounted to five hundred people.
They were painfully poor too—one flagship, a little over a hundred escort ships, and that was it. Gilgamesh couldn't help but shake his head.
The captain's personal escort ship at least resembled a sleek black hawk, though its specifications left much to be desired. Its appearance was the only remotely respectable thing about it.
With one glance, Gilgamesh understood its molecular structure. He casually summoned a nearby meteorite, crushed it into fine dust, then broke it down further before reassembling the particles. In moments, a hawk-shaped ship took form—as cleanly as if it had been 3D-printed.
Such feats were child's play for a god. Creation from raw imagination was natural to him; if his knowledge were broader, he could fashion galaxies or universes themselves.
But creating things piece by piece like this was painfully slow—like building a house by laying down a single brick each day. Who had time for that?
He certainly wasn't going to be like Ego, who spent countless millennia building a planet, only for his own son to blow it up.
To form galaxies or even dimensions with a mere thought required at least the Tenth Sense—at that point, creation itself was effortless.
Once the newly formed ship's hatch opened, Gilgamesh guided the Saints inside. Unfortunately, this craft was about the size of Star-Lord's ship—pitifully small. Thirteen people crammed into the main cabin felt like sardines in a tin.
Gilgamesh expanded the interior with divine power, but the distortion warped the exterior, turning the once elegant hawk shape into something closer to a bloated chicken.
As a perfectionist who loved beautiful things, he refused to tolerate such a design disaster. Unable to craft a better ship himself, he restored the original shape. Crowded or not—appearance came first.
With his divine will, he had already absorbed all necessary knowledge: piloting skills, local languages, and general information. And conveniently, most beings in this universe spoke English. Any rare languages were simple enough to scan through if needed.
Entering the cockpit, he pulled up the star map. One glance made his expression stiffen.
They had been flying in the wrong direction for over half a month.
"Saga… Saga… what path were you following exactly?"
He wanted to yell, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. His time on Earth had mellowed him—slightly.
With practiced ease, he reset the route and marked their true destination: Xandar.
[System Prompt]: Destination: Xandar. Estimated requirement: thirty-two consecutive space jumps. Activate jump engine?
Gilgamesh chuckled. He remembered how Rocket and Yondu had once made over seven hundred jumps in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, nearly dislocating their eyeballs in the process.
For him and the Saints, thirty-two jumps were nothing.
"Activate immediately."
With that command, the ship's engines roared to life. Power surged through the vessel, space twisted open, and in the next heartbeat the entire ship shot into a wormhole—vanishing into the vast ocean of stars.
Hundreds of kilometers away in open space, countless merchant ships drifted in an orderly formation toward Xandar's port zone.
Within one of the fleets, a bird-shaped vessel cruised lazily forward, its speakers blasting classic Earth music from the 1980s and '90s. Inside, a human man in a red leather jacket swayed and spun in clumsy, enthusiastic motions—none other than the ever-eccentric Star-Lord of the Guardians of the Galaxy, Peter Quill.
"Can you shut it for one second?" Yondu snapped, irritation flickering across his blue features. The metallic fin atop his head glinted as he turned. He had brought Quill along to negotiate an important deal with a broker… yet the boy was still bouncing around like a fool. How had he not grown tired of that same ancient playlist after decades?
Of course, his complaints made no difference at all. Star-Lord continued dancing as if Yondu's voice didn't even exist. With a long-suffering sigh, Yondu slumped back in his seat. Sometimes he wondered why he had ever chosen to whisk that kid off Earth.
He'd only given himself a lifelong headache.
Just as he was beginning to stew in frustration, the space a hundred meters ahead rippled violently. In the next instant, a black spaceship tore out from a distorted patch of air, scraping past their bow at frightening speed before slamming straight into a colossal merchant freighter nearby.
Boom—
A brilliant burst of flame illuminated the void, silent but massive. Yondu and his second-in-command exchanged a look… and then burst into laughter.
"Who's this unlucky idiot?" Yondu cackled. "Jumping out at that angle!"
"Merchant freighters have armor thick enough to crush smaller ships. Anyone inside that clunker's definitely space dust by now!"
Their mockery halted when they actually observed the aftermath.
The freighter's armor showed nothing more than a shallow scrape… but the hawk-shaped black ship shattered into a storm of debris.
Yet instead of corpses drifting into space, thirteen shimmering golden meteors suddenly burst from the explosion's heart, each one gleaming like a miniature sun. They halted midair, suspended effortlessly in the void.
Stunned silence rippled across the surrounding vessels. Aliens peered through observation windows, jaws slack.
"These people… they can fly in open space!?"
"Is that some new kind of space armor?"
"The design looks strange… but it's actually kind of stylish!"
Shock turned to wonder as all eyes focused on the thirteen Saints.
Gilgamesh, in contrast, had no interest in being gawked at like some exotic animal. He cast a cold glance toward the curious onlookers, snorted dismissively, and shot off in the direction of Xandar. The golden streak of his flight cut cleanly across the starry expanse.
Saga and the remaining Saints immediately followed, forming a dazzling trail of light behind him.
The appearance of thirteen golden meteors roaring toward the planet did not go unnoticed. Xandar's Nova Legion detected the anomaly instantly, triggering an emergency alert across the capital.
"Attention all units! A severe collision has occurred in outer space. Thirteen unidentified individuals wearing golden armor are presumed responsible. Following receipt of the image data, all squads are ordered to coordinate pursuit and containment!"
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