Knowhere.

A refuge for all the lost, forgotten, and oppressed people of the galaxy. Nothing more than buildings made of sheet metal and scraps, all hiding inside the skull of a dead celestial. Cooks offered charred reptiles on a stick. Workers diligently removed rubble in the aftermath of battle. Wild animals roamed free here, from monkeys to sheep to the monstrous abilisks: tentacled behemoths, but remarkably docile for their size. They had done their part in sewing terror among the Badoon, and forcing their retreat.

The battle had ended, but had left the people of Knowhere demoralized and exhausted. Kratos assisted with the clean-up, dumping Badoon corpses into space, removing debris, tending to the wounded, and helping recover the dead and missing.

The ceremony for those dead was solemn. The bodies of the casualties were laid in a line before the great eye socket, ready to be shot into space, to be given their rest. Each among the dead was placed in a casket, and covered respectfully with a blanket. Kratos could see in the people's eyes that they were fed up with battle. They had placed their hope in safety, in peace, but their vulnerability was now very-much clear to them, and the words Rocket spoke attested to that transparent reality.

"I, uh…" Rocket started, the city listening silently from the balconies, from the rooftops, from the ground. "I'm no good at these kinds of things. You all have been through a lot. Not many people can say they rammed a celestial's skull into the High Evolutionary's spaceship. Not many can say they survived a Badoon invasion. You all deserve a break, but we're still alive, so we don't get the luxury. Not yet. These people…"

Rocket gestured to the glorious dead. "They earned their rest. This isn't goodbye. It's just…see you later. We'll see them again soon. Now, it's up to us to keep going. Anyone else care to say anything?"

Kratos looked among the people. Nebula glared at the dirt. Groot likely knew no one would understand, and remained silent. The rest were content to grieve silently. Rocket sighed, and with his hand pressed against the shield toggle, finally said, "Take care, guys."

With that, the bodies embraced the vacuum, there to rest in the silent calm of the void. The crowd dispersed, returning to their reparations, leaving a heartbroken Rocket to stand by the eye socket, to wonder what he might have done differently. Kratos approached Rocket and thought of placing a hand on his shoulder, but decided against it. Instead, he stood alongside, and dignified the dead with a long farewell. Rocket noticed Kratos' presence, and muttered, "Get lost."

"This place is meant for the lost." Kratos said in a soothing half-whisper. "That was your vision, from what I have heard."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure I'm cut out for this leading thing."

Kratos sighed as the bodies flew into the dark. "Part of the Journey is the end."

"Not that end." Rocket grumbled, gesturing to the dead, now twinkling along with the rest of the stars. "They weren't ravagers or corporate stooges. They were just people. I was supposed to protect 'em, and I failed. I didn't even see the Badoon comin' before it was too late. They just- appeared out of nowhere. It was my job to make sure that didn't happen. Maybe I am just a raccoon. An experiment that shoulda been incinerated long ago. If I wasn't here, maybe a real leader wouldda saved 'em."

Kratos looked back at the survivors. A space dog with telekinetic powers, Groot, Drax, even the ones with no powers at all, all doing her part to repair the damage wrought. Misfits. No rhyme or reason to any of them. Who better to lead these than the most misfit of them all? "These people will need a man of great intelligence to guide them. Someone who knows how to repair. To rebuild. They will need a great inventor to show them the way."

"A man." Rocket said with a scoff, then realized what Kratos meant. "Thanks. That, uh, means a lot, coming from you. I should go help."

Kratos nodded. "Hmm."

Rocket turned, and immediately began correcting the work of a nearby mechanic. "No, no, no! I told you twice, don't overtorque it! Here. Like this…"

"That was uncharacteristically nice of you." Mimir noted. "I think having a family is doing good things for you."

"We need their help finding Thor." Kratos replied. "Nothing more."

"Admit it or not," Mimir muttered, "You just helped that creature on an emotional level. You've changed for the better, brother."

"Hmmf."

"Come on, you big teddy bear, we should go find a way to help."

"Hmm."

Wandering the streets of Knowhere, Kratos happened upon Drax, busy keeping the children occupied with games and song. Drax noticed the old god watching, and excused himself, offering the kids a joyous, "Jub-jub!'

Approaching Kratos, Drax said, "Many thanks for your help, tattooed man."

"These children." Kratos observed. "You speak their language. You are their father?"

Drax frowned at the question. "My fatherhood was taken from me. By Thanos."

"Thanos is dead."

"Doesn't change what happened." Drax replied, gesturing back to the children. "I am not their father, but they are family. I find I am much better at being Drax the Babysitter than Drax the Destroyer."

"Then you are wiser than most." Kratos grumbled. One father to another, I hope you never forget it. As for me, I have my own family to return to. "Thor. He was among you."

Drax pursed his lips. "Not for a long time. Why?"

"He has gone missing. I must find him."

Drax nodded. "I'll gather the Guardians."

/

"Please help us! The God Butcher has found us!"

"He left them hanging…as a warning!"

"Our greatest champions, now laid to waste!"

"Thor, where are you?! We need you here!"

Holograms of distress call after distress call flashed blue and red across the walls of Guardian's ship's cabin, revealing the gravity of the situation. God Butcher. A familiar name, but one only reserved for Kratos himself. Now, someone else had taken the mantle. If Kratos wasn't concerned for his family, he would almost congratulate the one doing this. I thought my time with the gods had ended. Will I never be rid of them?

"Thor took off in search of this God Butcher." Nebula explained. "We haven't seen him since."

"Where did he go?" Kratos asked.

"No clue." Rocket replied with a shrug. "We left him on Indigaar, but that was months ago."

"I am Groot." Groot pointed out.

"That's true." Nebula added, pointing to one distress call in particular; that of an Asgardian warrior, Lady Sif, grimacing with exhaustion. "That's probably where he went."

Kratos held Mimir up to see. Seeing the behemoth fallen god in the background of the footage, Mimir exclaimed, "That's Falligar! Oh, don't tell me Falligar got caught up in all this."

"Falligar…" Kratos pondered, to which Mimir replied, "A pleasant fellow. One of the nicest gods I had ever met, ask anyone! He was known to wrestle black holes for fun! Even you would have a hard time besting him, brother. A terrible loss for the Falligarians. What could be powerful enough to do this?"

"Then Falligar is where our search begins." Kratos said, urgence in his voice. "Rocket. I must get there. Can you offer assistance?"

Rocket shook his head. "We have enough going on here. I can't spare even a single pair of hands."

"Eh," A voice with a southern flavour spoke up amongst the group. It was a man, just a man, with a metal, mohawk-shaped device implanted in his skull. "Everyone else here has got things to do, lifting rocks, welding, but I'm just the arrow guy. Kraglin, at your service. I'll fly you there."

"Yeah. We don't really need him anyway." Drax mentioned. "His power is essentially useless outside of fighting."

Kraglin took offence. "Okay, now-"

"Am I wrong?" Drax asked.

"He's the pilot for the whole station!" Rocket exclaimed. "The Badoon will be back, and we gotta jump as soon as the engines are ready. We need our pilot. Useless power notwithstanding."

"Okay, now…" Kraglin said under his breath, more demoralized the second time.

"I've been working on my piloting skills." Phyla, a girl, a Guardian, no older than ten, spoke up. "I could use the practice. I'll take him."

"No." Kratos said outright, much to the girl's disappointment.

"It's alright, lass." Mimir reassured her. "You're young. Plenty of time for adventure yet. Just not one this dangerous."

Adam Warlock, a man of golden skin and hair, spoke up. "What about the duck?"

All eyes turned to the Warlock and spoke as one: "The duck?"

"Yeah." Adam suggested. "Howard. All he does is gamble and drink. No one would miss him if this big pale man accidentally got him killed."

Everyone in attendance shrugged in agreement. Kratos made a low grumble, before asking, "Does the…duck…know how to fly a ship?"

The Guardians all looked at each other.

/

"Well, she ain't much, but she's got me out of enough tight spots in my time."

Howard kicked the rusty two-man ship with his webbed feet, and the ship groaned and sputtered. Kratos sighed, and wondered how he could have ever found himself in such a situation. "You are certain it will fly?"

Howard smirked and lit a cigar. "Oh, she'll fly. Better than me, anyways."

"That is not reassuring."

"Look, buddy," Replied Howard, "Do I look like a duck that would risk my own life for a taxi run? She'll fly. I am quite literally betting my life on it."

Without another option, Kratos bid his goodbyes, and departed for Falligar in Howard's questionable ship. Rocket waited until the ship jumped away, then returned everyone to their work. "Alright, people, show's over, we have work to do!"

Exhausted, when Rocket returned home, he was met with the squeaks and chittering of baby raccoons, all eagerly awaiting his return. The raccoons, which he had saved from the High Evolutionary's dungeons, now knew him as father. They skittered up to him, climbing his pants, scratching at his boots, for both food and attention. Rocket smiled at the sight, and exclaimed, "Alright, alright! I'll get your food already, jeez. Actin' like I never feed you…"

As he scoured the pantry for something to feed these young creatures, a strange sensation made his whiskers curl. His communication console blinked, announcing an incoming call. With a sigh, and annoyed at the disturbance, Rocket answered on audio only. "What?! I'm feeding the kids! This had better be important!"

A voice, calm, metallic, yet noble, answered: "Urgently so. I am looking for the one known by many names. You know him as Kratos."

"What's it to you?" Rocket asked, making sure his sidearm was charged, just in case.

The voice replied, "Kratos is a dire threat to the cosmos. The God of War- the God Butcher- must be stopped."

Rocket shook his head. "Kratos is the God Butcher? That ain't right. Who is this?"

"A herald of justice. A Sentinel of the Spaceways. There is residual divine energy aboard your station, indicating that Kratos was here. Tell me where he went. The balance of the cosmos might depend on it."

Rocket pondered the idea. Could Kratos really be the God Butcher from the distress calls? But also, was it so unlikely? The last time he saw Ghost, he had torn the head right from Thanos' shoulders. He was a creature of violence, at the end of the day. It was possible. "Prove you are who you say you are."

This time, the voice came from inside the room: "Very well."

Rocket spun about, coming face-to-face with a man, levitating in the middle of the chamber, whose hairless skin, eyes, fingernails, everything, was all made of glistening metal, whose expression read the determined pursuit of justice, and of regret. Rocket opened fire, but the rounds bounced off of the intruder's hide without a mark.

"Be not afraid." The Silver Surfer announced, feet lowering to touch the floor. "I am not your enemy."

"How the hell'd you get in here?!" Rocket demanded, charging a grenade.

With a wave of the Surfer's hand, the grenade fell apart, becoming nothing more than metal shards and chemical powder on the floor. "No walls can hold me. Now, I implore you, help me save the cosmos; Tell me everything you know about the Ghost of Sparta."