They were still in transit through hyperspace when the Decimation occurred. A ripple across the fabric of reality could be felt by every single member of the Kree warship known as the Solace of Pama and everyone shuddered from the sudden surge in changing reality, their very being feeling the ripple of cosmic energy course through them. No one on the ship quite knew what had happened at the time, that Thanos had done exactly what he had set out to do from the beginning: extinguish half of all life in the universe.

Realizing that something was off, the ship dropped out of hyperspace almost immediately, signal klaxons flashing across the bridge consoles. Its crews ran diagnostics on both their craft and themselves, seeing what had been potentially damaged. There was none.

It was in this moment that the captain, Varan-Kor, decided that the best course of action was to find safe refuge whilst attempting to get their bearings. Little did they know who or what was watching them as they did so…

Varan-Kor stared out the primary viewport on the bridge, his brow furrowed with mild confusion. "Are you certain this is correct?" he uttered to the navigation officer before him, his steely gaze never leaving the object on screen.

"To the best of my knowledge, sir," the officer replied. "We are somewhere in Galaxy M30, somewhere in Badoon territory, if the starchart is accurate." He gave a nervous look at the object before continuing. "The only doubt I have as to the accuracy of our location is based on the strange anomaly in one of the quadrants, taking up roughly 9 sectors of space. I don't know what to tell you about it other than the fact that such an anomaly was not there last time we mapped this galaxy."

The Kree captain nodded as he processed the information given to him. No one on the ship had any idea what it was they had felt only a few scant hours ago, but it chilled them to their very bones, no, their very souls. There was something that was so off about what they had just experienced, but no one could quite put their finger on what it was. All they could do was trust that it was an isolated incident and move on, hoping it would never happen again.

"There is one more thing, captain," the navigation officer continued. Varan-Kor merely nodded for him to continue. "If our data is accurate, then this is also the galaxy in which Star-Lord's people resides."

At such mention, Kor's pupils dilated and he drew in a sharp breath. He was quite familiar with Guardian's name, as were as all of those associated with Ronan, for he had been in avid favor of the Accuser's actions following the peace treaty with the Nova Corps. He, like so many others, had wanted to keep the war going, had wanted to ensure vengeance on all of those fallen Kree that had died in the hundreds of years of war between the two empires. Still being a junior officer at the time of his death, however, he could do no such thing without besmirching the honor on himself and his comrades on his old ship. Now, however, things were different. Now he had command of his own ship, his own crew, even his own small army, all of them eager for combat, for vengeance against the Guardians of the Galaxy. He would make them pay, starting with Star-Lord's own planet.

The captain eyed the planet before him on screen, a jewel of blue and green amidst a vast ocean of stars. Like most planets, it had but a single natural satellite orbiting around it. However, unlike most planets, this one also had a space station, not big by any stretch of the imagination, but it most likely had any potential supplies and information they needed. It would make a good jumping-off point to begin their crusade of vengeance. With several hundred Kree soldiers and crew alongside over three thousand Sakaaran mercenaries, he felt as though his victory was assured. Intelligence reports told him that Star-Lord's world, Terra, was a pre-space faring civilization still, meaning their technology would stand no chance to their own. The humans would learn to fear the Kree.

"Set course for the planet's space station and prep a boarding team with two squadrons of Necrocraft for support."

115.981.M41

Marovan Subsector – Ultima Segmentum

The Ordo Xenos has conscripted the help of the Relictors Chapter 4th Company to investigate the matter of a possible xenos incursion on Hesporax Prime. Such investigation had yielded little result until the presence of an unknown xenos ship appeared virtually out of nowhere. Primary objective has changed on the orders of Inquisitor Sarax:

Disable the xenos vessel and capture as many senior officers for interrogation as possible.

Sword-class frigates are moving to push the ship to within boarding range of the Adeptus Astartes Strike Cruiser Spear of Adrontus…

Before the Solace had made it within ten thousand klicks of the space station, red warning signals flashed across the sensor readout panels on the bridge, multiple icons labeled as unknown dancing across the screens. Varan-Kor snarled in frustration. "What's the situation, officer?" he demanded.

"I'm reading three cruisers, unknown allegiance, all measuring a klick and a half in length, approaching fast," the Kree crewman replied. Pressing a few buttons on the panel, he brought the image up to the main screen. "Based on their speed, it looks like they'll be within firing range in thirty minutes."

The Kree captain scratched his chin at the information provided to him. It was not unknown for squadrons of smaller ships to attempt to engage a single larger vessel at the same time. In fact, it was the smart tactic when facing a smaller number of large ships. But he was wary of such tricks. Those thirty minutes did give him time to prepare, however, and he would take every opportunity to do so.

"Launch four hundred of our Necrocraft to draw off two of the cruisers while we engage the third one. Keep the remaining two hundred in reserve." If his knowledge was correct, and these were indeed a trio of Badoon ships approaching them, they wouldn't stand a chance against the sheer number of Kree fighters. Though they did maintain control of a good portion of Galaxy M30, their technology was often considered rustic, crude, and often unreliable compared to the Nova Corps, Shi'ar Empire, Skrulls, Kree, or even Sakaarans. They wouldn't stand a chance.

Ten minutes after the order was given, the Necrocraft launched and veered off to engage the flanking cruisers among the squadron, leaving the center of the formation out to deal with the Solace alone. Before the fighters were even a quarter of the way to their destination, however, the attacking craft began launching their own fighters and even started firing at the small attack ships approaching them, still over twelve thousand kilometers away. From where they were stationed on the bridge, it appeared the enemy cruisers were firing long range lasers at their fighters, large red beams streaking across the empty void to hit the mass of attack craft with accuracy and efficiency. The first volley alone blasted over fifty of the Kree's fighters, vaporizing many of them and coring those that didn't straight up disappear.

Varan-Kor wasn't worried about his loses at first, as fifty was often more than acceptable by his estimates for any engagement. Besides, when capital ships usually fired from such a long range, they often needed extended periods of time to reload or cool off their systems before they could fire again.

Unfortunately for them, what none of the Kree had realized at the time was that, to the attacking ships before them, twelve thousand kilometers was not considered long range at all for them. The squadron of ships fired again not a minute later, at the point where the Necrocraft were less than ten thousand kilometers away. This time the volley took out a full one hundred and fifty of the remaining three hundred and fifty ships. Each laser beam cut a swathe through the swarm of dark, round ships, rending and tearing through their protective armor.

It was at this point that they were upon the attacking ship's own fightercraft, their guns beginning to cycle up in preparation. The Kree bridge could see the approaching ships more easily now. Each was at least twice the length of their own fighter, although maintaining a smaller frontal profile compared to their own ships. It looked as if each ship should've fit more as a bomber than a fighter based on their size and they should've been slow, unwieldy, and incredibly inefficient compared to their own. There were only about seventy of them in total, divided into squadrons of ten.

When the fighters began engaging them, however, their opinions of the larger fighters' clumsiness were dashed almost immediately. The unknowns opened fire first, streaks of red lasers akin to the ones found on the ship firing from their chassis. Several squadrons even fired off what looked to be missiles, the explosive warheads streaking across the empty space before impacting against the Necrocraft.

What was once considered a battleline between two sides quickly diminished as they opposing sides split off into dogfights with one another, bright green blaster shots from Kree fighters streaking across the sky against hues of red beams fired from lasers. Each side seemed to lose dozens at a time, as the skills of pilots from both sides were pitted against each other.

Varan-Kor's heart began to sink as he saw squadron indicators wink red at an alarming rate. It wasn't because of the losses on his side, however. Instead, as he pulled up individual pict-feeds of the pilots, he could make out just how much of a struggle the Kree and Sakaaran pilots were having against the enemy fighters.

As massive as they were, the attack craft moved with speed and agility unbecoming of something of their size. Each performed twists and turns as easily as his own ships. They made nosedives and feints, bobbing and weaving between the blaster shots. Worse yet, they seemed to show excessively good coordination, as if they had fought a thousand battles together. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he swore they could move with more cohesion and precision than even some of his most veteran fighters.

It only took another ten seconds of intense fighting before he'd seen enough. His helmsman made note of the fact that the cruiser squadron completely ignored the dogfight in front of them and instead opted to continue towards the Solace of Pama. Based on what he saw, Varan-Kor estimated they had less than five minutes to jump before they'd be within the ships' firing ranges.

"Set course to the Oort Cloud," he commanded, swallowing heavily as he did so. "Get us out of here, helmsman."

The crew didn't need to be told twice and strapped in for an emergency hyperspace jump. They braced as the sounds of the engine whirred to live, everyone save the captain himself gripping the edges of their seats in anticipation of the lurch.

The sound of the engines spinning up continued to increase in intensity as it got ready, faint vibrations being felt even from where they were. Everyone held their breath as the computer counted down.

3…

2…

1…

There was silence as the ships engines suddenly powered down.

"What the Hel?" Varan-Kor muttered. He turned to the helmsman. "What happened?" he demanded, an edge of irritation and, dare he think it, panic, in his voice.

"Engines are not responding, sir," one of the bridge crew responded. "They are at one hundred percent readiness, but they're still not firing for some reason."

"Then get us to a jump point," he ordered.

A handful of seconds passed before one of the crewman responded, "No jump points detected in the system, sir."

The Kree captain was about to respond, his frustration and anger fully consuming him, when another crew member said, "Sir, one more contact approaching from bearing Delta-Two-Niner-Zero." That meant it was approaching from the exact opposite direction as the other cruisers.

"Specs?" he ordered.

"Unknown, sir," the crewman continued, "but it's big, at least five klicks in length." Varan-Kor nodded grimly. If his crewmen were telling the truth, then that made it almost double that of the Solace itself. If it was anything like the cruisers, they wouldn't stand a chance against it. Given the fact that they couldn't run, they had no choice but to fight.

"Prepare all crews and troops," he called out to the men before him. "If we can't outrun them, then maybe we can kill them."

"Yes, sir," the Kree crew affirmed.

He was just about to head off to retrieve his own equipment when another warning klaxon blared. "Warning," the bridge computer announced, "torpedo launch detected."

Sergeant Skarrus Farovan of the Relictors 4th Company stood at the head of the Astartes boarding torpedo as it launched from the Spear of Adrontus's prow launch tubes. The adamantium and ceramite floor beneath his armored boots shook and shuddered as the projectile-based transport moved at speeds far beyond that of most Imperial ships, guiding him and his brothers to their destination some hundred thousand klicks from their strike cruiser, well within range of its other potent, more lethal weaponry.

Had the Marines had their way, the xenos ship would've been wreckage among the void five minutes before launch, just another dead xenos ship among the many too overconfident for their own good. But the Inquisitor wanted none of that. Instead, he opted to bring the ship back as intact as possible and with as many survivors as possible. This was a new, unknown xenos ship, after all, one not logged into the Ordo Xeno's already massive catalogue. For the enemies of the Imperium of Man, both outside and in, were numerous, so numerous it might actually be impossible to accurately archive all of them.

The Relictor sergeant felt a significantly larger tremor as the torpedo continued its course. From the intel gathered by the engagement going on between the frigates' Fury interceptors and the enemy's own fighters, he and his battle brothers had little to worry about. Yes, the Imperial assault craft had been outnumbered by a significant margin, but their numbers appeared to help them very little compared to the Emperor's own. Even now, as the larger fighters were wrapping up their dogfight against the smaller xenos ships, it was clear that their skills, even their technology, stood no chance against a fully coordinated and experienced Fury squadron, let alone several.

The feed in his helmet lit up as he saw the xenos capital ship for the first time, a green signal marking that they were one minute from impact upon its hull. The ship itself was not all that impressive, being a single kilometer in length and three kilometers abroad. It made a spiral-like shape and the hull seemed to be made of some sort of obsidian/metal hybrid, like it was made of a metallic stone. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought it was a smaller Druchii raiding ship. The aesthetic was similar in many ways, and the more treacherous and sinister Eldar were known to hunt and prey upon the Imperium's less well-defended regions, taking what they wanted and leaving before the Imperials could properly respond.

He saw another swarm of fighters emerging from the ship's spirals, roughly two hundred other small attack craft of the same caliber as the ones that attempted to fight the frigates. If they were the same as the previous group, he had nothing to worry about. Even from the torpedo's extern camera, he could see several squadrons of Stormhawks and Thunderhawks moving ahead of the torpedoes, ready to shield them should the need arise. He had full confidence in the battle-brothers and serfs piloting his Chapter's own attack craft. The Stormhawks were smaller than the Navy's own Furies while maintaining much of the same firepower, and the Thunderhawks had similar mobility while holding more weapons, more armor, and even more experienced pilots.

The opposing fighter began engaging each other immediately, with the Space Marine ships firing off salvos of missiles and streams of heavy bolter and assault cannon rounds, the speed of the solid projectiles colliding almost instantly with the xenos fighters. A few seconds later the xenos returned fire, scores of green projectiles flying through the air at their targets. Were it not for the information provided to him from the other engagement, Farovan would've sworn they were firing plasma or even gauss at the Imperials. Had they actually done so, the Imperials would've undoubtedly lost many more ships than they actually did. As it stood, the projectiles were probably some sort of low heat plasma or even basic sub-light blaster shots. The latter was more unusual since, as far as he knew, blasters hadn't been used by most of the galaxy for millennia at this point, the technology less efficient at killing things than plasma or even laser technology.

As the onboard machine spirit lit up to indicate the thirty second mark, he did a quick unit check, making sure his squad was fully prepared to engage once they landed. He saw nine other indicators wink green in affirmation, all ready to engage and destroy the enemies of the Imperium.

Satisfied with what he saw, he waited and, at the ten second mark, braced.

At the sound of loud hissing, followed by an immense shake, the crew of the Solace of Pama prepared for devastation across the ship. But none came. Instead, across six different areas of the ship, the torpedoes laid, smoke and steam billowing out around them. In one of ship's main mustering halls, a contingent of Sakaaran and Kree soldiers scattered to cover, their weapons trained on the front of the torpedo. Surely if the projectile hadn't detonated, it would've served another purpose instead.

Private Avaras-Lok gripped his blaster rifle tightly from behind the gurney he was on, weapon ready to fire on anything that came out of the smoke. He had prepared for something like this, just as the rest of them had. They were Kree warriors, soldiers training for years to be the best their race could be. Sure, they weren't the Warrior-Heroes created by the Psyche-Magnitron, but they were still formidable in their own right.

Lok would never get the chance to see, much less fire upon, his opponents emerging from the boarding torpedo before dying from a single shot fired by the assaulting forces, his chest being ripped open by the force of the mass-reactive explosive round.

The tactical marine squad advanced through the smoke, firing their bolters as they came through, their preysight outlining the xenos forces arrayed before them. They appeared humanoid in almost every aspect, their formations and positions prepared, weapons trained upon them as they entered. There were roughly fifty of them, some behind tables and pillars while others were on the upper balconies.

It mattered not where they were, for they died like any mortal humanoid when shot at by a boltgun: quickly and with extremely lethal force.

The first twenty of them fell before they were even aware they were being fired upon, the bolt rounds blasting their torsos apart.

The remaining thirty fared little better than their comrades, all firing shots off, but many of them missing, most likely due to panic from the sudden assault of the Marines advancing upon them. Those that did hit did little damage against their power armor, their guns firing a similar projectile as the fighters they had seen before. They seemed to carry similar damage in that respect as well. The rounds did little more than slightly warp the armor they hit, not too dissimilar to that of lasgun shots. Unfortunately for the xenos, Astartes power armor had high amounts of heat resistance due to the ceramite plating, and they would pay for such a mistake with their lives.

Not even fifteen seconds had passed since the first round was shot and already all fifty xenos had died, with the ten-man Marine squad suffering no casualties in the process. Signaling across the Chapter vox that they had secured their landing zone, they made their way to the bridge. The other five Relictor squads would soon move to secure the other important parts of the ship: the generatorium, the engines, and the weapon systems. That is, if they weren't already moving there.

Varan-Kor could only stare in abject horror at the information the ships cameras fed to him. Emerging from the smoke, squads of monstrously tall armored men advanced on the Kree and Sakaaran soldiers waiting for them. They moved swiftly and without mercy, firing their bulky, boxy weapons as they went, their shots landing with pinpoint accuracy upon each and every defender. He could see their bodies explode from the impact of the rounds, their torsos being reduced to fine red, blue, and black mists. He could see that their armor was just as effective as their weapons, absorbing dozens of blaster shots at a time, all without losing stride or suffering any heavy hindrance. Their blasters should've been capable of downing any humanoid target with a chest shot, for armor was only so good in all galactic communities. Nobody bothered with fully bodysuits of armor in this day and age. Yes, armor was capable of absorbing a degree of blaster fire, but very few species possessed the materials needed to absorb more than a handful of shots. Whoever these people were certainly had that much.

He watched as six different squads of the hulking men moved throughout the ship, engage both Sakaaran and Kree, sometimes in enclosed hallways, sometimes in meeting halls, sometimes in open hangars. Even some of the more prepared and fortified positions didn't seem to hinder them in any significant way. He could see that the attackers brought their own specialized weapons: large, wide shields that could link together to form their own wall of metal; blasters of a much greater power than their own weapons, possibly utilizing some sort of high-energy plasma; heat rays that could sheer reinforced doors and bulkheads with little difficulty; chainsaw swords that could rip and tear whatever flesh it came into contact with; and even compact flamethrowers, flamethrowers, a class of weapon that were all but extinct in this day and age. They were often seen as too bulky and impractical compared to the likes of explosive weapons. Yet here they were, compact flamethrowers that could burn his men while they were hiding behind cover with little difficulty.

The intruders continued to press their assault, mowing down squads, platoons, even companies at a time, their relentless advance leaving nothing but bodies in their wake. He had thought the four thousand Sakaarans mercenaries would be enough to bring down the roughly sixty men assaulting them. Apparently he was wrong. Even the two thousand reserve Kree soldiers did little to stop their advance, their coordination and skill amounting to nothing against these machines of death and destruction.

That was the other thing about these brutes. Not only were they hulking and menacing with their howling deathmasks and heavy weapons, but they were also fast and smart. Every time his own forces brought a heavy weapon to bear, they flanked around and moved beyond the firing arcs before striking. When their heavy assault units approached, they would seemingly disappear into the shadows only to reappear right next to, above, or even below them, drawing heavy pistols, knives that seemed more akin to short swords, and their dreaded chain weapons out. The close combat teams didn't seem to have any chance at even their preferred range.

They were also uncannily fast, faster than something of that size should've been able to move. Several times they had dashed across the screen faster than the cameras could track and when they could be seen, only broken bodies of both Kree and Sakaaran were left.

Growling, he continued to ready his weapons and equipment, his hammer brandished and eager for blood. One of the invading squads was heading for the bridge, probably to stop the ship from going anywhere so their own ships could close in. Well, he wasn't having any of that. Nobody would take his ship if he had anything to say about it.

Another xenos soldier fell before his chainsword, its ichor dripping from the individual blades. Sergeant Farovan surveyed the large metal door before him, his helmet doing a quick scan of the mechanisms before it. Meanwhile, the rest of his squad moved into defensive positions around him, their weapons trained on the hallways around them. Their boltguns still smoked from the previous firefight, shell casings scattered across the floor. Also on the floor were at least a dozen other xenos warriors, dressed in more ordain armor than those that came before. They put up a little more resistance than the rest, enough to actually make two of his battle-brothers check themselves for extensive damage. But they were still dealt with just like the rest.

He knocked against the vaultlike contraption once, using his enhanced hearing to determine the thickness as well as what lied just beyond. From the way the echo came back, the door blocked the control bridge. The entrance itself was less than two meter thick, slightly hollow for the contraptions needed to move it. Beyond were most likely several layers of stations for the various tasks required of its crew to run. There was also a central open space, most likely a stand for the captain, possibly even a control throne if it were to be folded back.

"Command, Squad Farovan is just outside the bridge now. Preparing to enter now," he voxed to the Spear. He switched back to his squad's comm channel. "Brothers, prepare to breach." The rest of the Marines moved around the door, their weapons aimed at whatever was on the other side. "Brother Xavan, deploy melta charges." A wink of confirmation was given through his heads-up display and he moved to the side.

Xavan mag-locked his plasma gun to his thigh, reaching around for the melta bombs on his other side. Such devices were used as a common anti-vehicle weapon among the Adeptus Astartes, as taught by the Codex, that which was written by one of the Emperor's own sons, Roboute Guilliman. His ways stressed the practical approach over all else, with a basis on theoretical and supported by data. It is with his teaching that the Angels of Death had won time after time in the ten thousand years since it was written, for Guilliman was a demigod, the son of the Emperor himself, with a mind to match.

The Marine placed the charge against the door and moved to the side. A second or two passed before the doorway around them seemed to melt like ice, the solid metal becoming little more than bright slag.

Just as quickly as it had disappeared, the Astartes entered, weapons barking as they were fired upon by bridge guards and crew that had decided it was better to die fighting. They would fall like all the rest.

When they entered, Farovan had been right about his predictions save for the throne in the center. Instead was a larger specimen of the xenos they had encountered before. It had blue and black skin, its eyes glowing green, its teeth bared as it held a wicked warhammer. It was fully armored, with obsidian plate and black tunic. It seemed to be an incarnation of death itself.

Had he been a mere mortal, the sergeant would've quaked in terror at the sight of it. But he had transcended beyond such mortal impulses a long time ago. He was Astartes, a Space Marine, the Emperor's Angel of Death, forged in blood, tempered in battle. He had fought a thousand battles against the most deadly and insidious enemies man had ever known. He had fought the brutish Orks, deceitful Eldar, vile daemons, and many other, more incomprehensible things than that which lay before him. He was one of the Emperor's Finest, and he knew no fear.

Without a second thought, he brandished his chainsword and charged across the bridge at breakneck speed, ignoring the shots of those that tried to divert him. This xenos leader would fall before him. He would have to incapacitate the creature, no small feat for an Astartes given than they were made first and foremost to kill.

When he got to the hammer wielder, the blue-skinned alien swung with all its worth in a downward strike. He had to dodge slightly to the left to prevent his own head from being crushed. Though he knew their ranged weapons were weak in almost all regards, the same might've not been necessarily true of their melee weapons. Either way, he didn't want to find out the hard way.

Rolling off to the side, he brought his own weapon out in a sideward slash. It met the hilt of the hammer, the teeth screeching and sparks flying as it ground against metal. Chainswords, for all of their damage, were rather poor at dealing direct damage to armor. Their best targets were meaty joints, where there was little to no protection from hundreds of monomolecular blades.

He brought his weapon back, moving to circle around the xenos captain. Now that he got a good look at him up close, the xenos was taller, but still marginally shorter than him, at least half a foot shorter if he were to guess. His movements were calm, calculated, like an experienced fighter. Unlike his compatriots, he also didn't seem panicked, his heartbeat only marginally faster than normal. That would change in a bit.

Seeming impatient, the captain lunged forward, its hammer swinging in a wide arc, hoping to catch the Marine off-guard. Unfortunately, the sergeant was quicker than it had anticipated, jumping just far enough back to miss being grazed by the hammer.

He wasn't here to toy with his prey, though, unlike some brothers he knew. He had a job to do, a mission to accomplish. With a single calculated strike, the Astartes brought the pommel of his sword down on the captain's head, striking him with enough force to render him unconscious.

Drawing in a breath to slow his twin hearts and stop the inflow of combat stimulants, he looked around the decimated bridge. The defenders had given their lives to try to stop the Astartes, most of them missing large chunks of their bodies. He could see that a handful of them still lived, though, tossed into a heap separate from the dead. They would be looked at later.

With just one more look, Farovan brought his gauntlet up to the earpiece in his helmet. "Objective secure."

Three weeks later…

At this point in his interrogation, Varan-Kor had no idea how much time had passed since his ship had boarded and he had been taken. He couldn't tell the difference in hours, let alone days, with how the lights seemed to never change. Every time he tried to sleep well, the binds on his arms would jolt him awake, electricity coursing through him. He was no stranger to torture of this kind. He had done so himself many times to many different species. But these Imperials were proficient at it.

He had learned in his stay from the leader of the group, Inquisitor Sarax, that he was in the domain of the Imperium of Man, largest and greatest galactic empire in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy. They were all humans, destined to conquer the stars and rule them. For ten thousand years, they had controlled a million worlds stretching across every corner of the galactic plane. Beset on all sides by aliens from within and without, the Imperium was crumbling, barely holding itself together as it continued to wither away.

For such a declining empire, they sure had lasted a long time, longer than the Shi'ar or even his own people's empire. And despite the fact that they had never travelled outside their own galaxy, they maintained an impressive strength. Trillions of humans, and countless hundreds of billions of soldiers. The soldiers he had fought were the best of the best, Space Marines, the Angels of Death. Honestly, if he weren't so exhausted, he'd be impressed by them. They were extremely capable warriors, possibly even able to match some of the Warrior-Heroes of his people.

If he were completely honest, this galaxy was brimming with madness, incomprehensible events happening across impossible stretches of time. There was no peace, no order, just grim darkness and hopelessness. This galaxy held such terrors in it that he was starting to question his peoples' own struggles, their own hardships. Yes, they had bled and died in many wars before, but not for over ten thousand years. Not against aliens that would put what he had seen and fought against to shame. Hel, even the threat of Thanos seemed so small in comparison. It shouldn't have been possible considering he had traveled through multiple galaxies, seen so many worlds. But something about this galaxy made everything else somehow feel so small. He absolutely hated that feeling.

The Kree captain's head shot up as a bulkhead squealed and the door to his chamber opened. Through the door stepped the Inquisitor himself, wearing a simple black robe with the symbol of his office emblazoned on the front, a simple 'I' with a skull in the center.

"Greetings, Varan-Kor," Sarax announced. The Kree simply stared back at him. "We are almost done with you for the time being." He took out a simple stood and sat on it. Unlike the Marines, the Inquisitor was only marginally tall, standing roughly the same height as himself, a good six and a half feet tall. Compared to the rest of his species he was still a good head taller than most of his species, or so he had been told. These humans, these Terrans, were strange even among other species he knew. They were not particularly strong or resilient, not fast, not tough or complex. They were just intelligent, with a willpower to match the Kree's best warriors. There was something almost admirable about that.

"Can I go home?" Kor rasped, his voice dry from the screaming he emitted from his torture. He knew such a gesture was a futile offer, but he thought he'd try. At the very least he wanted to just die, not be yanked from the abyss every time he came close to leaving. These Imperials were also good in that respect, able to prolong lives however much they saw fit. Hel, their Emperor was still alive even after ten thousand years of being little more than a vegetable. He had supposedly lived for as long as humanity had been a civilization, if it was to be believed.

The Inquisitor sighed. "I'm afraid not, my friend. We've already been over why you can't." There was also the practical reason they couldn't go home. Apparently, the hyperspace and jump point systems didn't work around here. The Imperial engineers of Mars had worked and tinkered with it, hearing what it could possibly do, but it still came back with no results. For some reason, the physics behind the technology just didn't work. It shouldn't have been possible, but it was the only explanation as to why they couldn't leave when they had tried outrunning the Imperials.

"I do just have just one more question, if you'll just bear with me here." He stared into the blue alien's eyes. Varan-Kor gave him his undivided attention. "You are not the first of your kind to come to our galaxy through means that you and your crew did, nor are you the strangest. My subdivision of the Ordo Xenos is designed specifically to archive and examine the phenomenon of such events, dubbed the 'crossroads effect' by Inquisitor Verusan several millennia ago. We believe that at various points of many universe's times people, ships, and sometimes planets are displaced from their own universe and land within our own. They come from various methods, but it is usually caused by a great cataclysm of some sort, something that shakes the universe to its core."

He drew in a breath before continuing, his eyes never leaving the Kree. "If what you experienced is true, if you claim you felt a 'ripple' that you and every one of your crew felt, then you were displaced from your own world. And I'm afraid there is no solid way for you to get back. I mean, it could be entirely possible, as whole ships in our own plane of reality have disappeared into the Warp, but we don't know if they were displaced or if they were straight up annihilated."

Kor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Where exactly are you going with this, Inquisitor?"

The large man let out a laugh. "Of course you'd want to know. And I'll tell you." He put on a serious expression once more. "You and your ship are not the only one to claim to come from the universe you describe. There are others. On that note, I have just one last question."

He leaned forward, his face filled with grim determination. "Who are the Guardians of the Galaxy?"