A remote place in the void — deserted and lifeless.
A band of Ravagers, armed to the teeth, had surrounded three human-looking figures.
The Ravagers were fierce and ruthless, exuding an oppressive aura. Their weapons hummed ominously as energy built up, causing the air around them to grow hot and dry. A terrifying, murderous pressure swept over the area.
Compared to these brutal warriors, the three surrounded figures appeared as helpless as white rabbits—seemingly powerless, waiting to be slaughtered.
But to the Ravagers' shock, the so-called "white rabbit" at the center didn't cower—he moved.
Boom!
In the blink of an eye, the leading man among the three struck like lightning.
Before anyone could react, Yondu's face exploded with a vicious red mark. His body was sent flying like a rag doll, crashing into a cluster of his own men.
The sudden attack jolted the rest of the Ravagers into action. With no hesitation, they raised their weapons and opened fire on Superman.
Boom!
Boom boom boom boom boom!
Laser blasts poured down like rain, each carrying deadly energy.
But Superman didn't flinch.
Clad in his suit, he didn't dodge or defend. Under the stunned gaze of everyone present, he simply stood there, enduring the full barrage.
Zzzzzzt!
The hiss of electricity filled the air.
As the smoke settled, Superman rolled his shoulders, relaxed his muscles, and looked at the Ravagers with a calm smile.
"Nope," he said.
"These blasts aren't doing much. You might want to turn it up a notch... or it's just going to feel like a tickle."
His words sent a chill through the Ravagers.
Even Carol and Nick Fury were momentarily stunned, despite having expected Superman to be strong.
They knew how lethal those weapons were.
These weren't Earth firearms—they were high-powered, top-tier galactic laser rifles. Designed with minimal recoil and enhanced power output, their energy blasts could vaporize enemies and pierce through starship armor with ease.
Even Carol, who possessed superhuman powers and combat ability far beyond most of the galaxy's elite, wouldn't dare to take a full barrage like that head-on.
But Superman? He took it—and smiled.
While Carol and Fury could barely process it, the Ravagers were downright horrified.
"What… what the hell are you?" someone muttered, trembling.
He wasn't the only one asking.
Yondu, who had just dragged himself to his feet, was furious. For half a minute he'd burned with humiliation, but now… that rage was gone.
What he had just witnessed poured over him like a bucket of cold water.
In all his years traveling the stars, Yondu had met his fair share of powerful beings. People with strange powers weren't rare in the universe.
But someone who could take that many laser blasts without a scratch? That wasn't just unusual—that was elite. A class of their own. One of the few feared and respected across all corners of space.
People like that were called many things—commanders, champions, monsters.
But above all, they were known as universal-level threats.
And judging by Superman's relaxed demeanor…
This wasn't even close to his full strength.
Yondu finally realized something—this man in the special battle suit, with the bold S emblem on his chest, had radiated terrifying confidence from the very moment they met.
Anyone who dared to provoke the Ravager team without flinching was clearly not ordinary.
"You're not human..."
Yondu's eyes widened in horror. Confusion and suspicion swirled in his mind as he stared at the man before him.
"Who the hell are you? With power like that… why would you need Peter to run a mission for you? What do you want from him?"
The Peter he referred to was, of course, Star-Lord—Peter Quill. Not Spider-Man, Peter Parker.
In the Marvel universe, names repeat all the time, and Anton—now embodying Superman—had long since given up trying to keep track.
So far, he'd counted at least three Johns, two Peters, two Phils, two Johnnys… and the list kept growing.
But Superman didn't react to the barrage of questions.
His expression didn't change.
"If I had to personally handle every mission, why would I need you lot at all?"
His voice was calm, indifferent.
"Wouldn't that make the Ravagers a joke?"
"..."
Yondu fell silent.
He knew Superman was deflecting, that there was more to the story. But the truth didn't matter.
One sentence—and the overwhelming power behind it—left him with no room to argue.
Faced with this kind of force, questioning wasn't even on the table.
"Mr. Kent... we don't want to be your enemies," Yondu finally said.
The sting of that earlier slap had faded into reluctant acceptance.
Realizing how outmatched they were, he abandoned any notion of revenge and offered cooperation instead.
"I'll do everything I can to help you find Peter. We don't have to be enemies. We can work together."
"We were never enemies," Superman replied coolly.
"But as long as you stay here, we have a much simpler and direct way to resolve this."
"You mean I have to stay?"
Yondu's face darkened.
"Yes," Superman said, nodding without hesitation.
"You're staying. The only choice you have is whether you stay willingly—or I make you stay."
His face remained emotionless, but his words cut like ice.
"After all, I don't mind if the only thing left of you is a corpse."
"..."
A cold silence followed.
Superman's earlier display of strength had left the Ravagers shaken. Now, with this chilling declaration, the air grew even tenser.
One by one, the Ravagers exchanged glances—wordless communication passing between them like static.
Unbeknownst to Superman, Yondu was subtly giving orders with minute gestures and code-like signals.
They were cornered, but not yet broken.
To surrender completely, to be held like captives—it was something Yondu and his crew could never accept.
If staying meant losing control of their lives, then they'd rather risk everything.
"Target the woman!"
Yondu whispered sharply to the man beside him.
"If we can take her hostage, we might be able to force this smug bastard to back down."
"Got it."
His crewmate nodded, understanding the plan instantly.
But Superman saw everything.
He couldn't decipher the coded whispers or gestures—but his senses told him one thing for sure:
Yondu and his crew… had no intention of surrendering.
"Do it!"
In the next moment, Yondu saw Superman appear momentarily distracted—and seized the opportunity. He let out a sharp whistle and leapt backward.
His flying arrow, suspended above his mohawk fin, responded instantly to the sound. It shot out like a lightning bolt, slicing through the air toward Superman.
Whoosh—whoosh—!
The arrow streaked forward, trailing a red gleam.
With a sonic boom, it pierced the air. The intense airflow it created whipped around violently, carrying with it a deadly, slicing force.
The arrow flew straight toward Superman's eyes.
But Superman didn't flinch.
He simply stood there, watching the projectile approach, eyes unblinking.
His gaze passed through the deadly arrow, straight to Yondu.
"What...?"
A cold sweat broke out on Yondu's back.
Something was wrong. His chest tightened, as if an invisible hand had gripped his heart.
Why wasn't this man afraid? Why wasn't he moving? Did he really think the arrow was nothing more than a toy?
Unless…
He knew it wasn't a threat at all.
Yondu's eyes widened in alarm.
"No way…"
Boom!
Just as he feared, the impossible happened.
The arrow, now only millimeters from Superman's face, suddenly stopped.
Superman had raised his hand at the last second—and caught it mid-flight.
Crack!
With a casual twist, he snapped the high-grade, space-forged arrow like it was a twig.
Yondu stared in disbelief. The arrow—crafted from a rare metal and controlled with deadly precision—was crushed like nothing.
"Gulp."
Yondu swallowed hard.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, Superman was gone from where he'd stood—only to reappear right in front of Yondu.
He was that fast.
Less than a hand's width separated them. Yondu could smell him—an oddly clean scent, like a faint breeze after a storm.
"Don't—!"
Yondu gasped, panic overtaking him.
In his imagination, he saw the man stretch out a hand, grab his neck, twist—and end his life in a heartbeat.
But instead of moving immediately, Superman spoke.
"Aren't you worried about your teammates?"
He glanced aside, and Yondu followed his gaze—just in time to see his team thrown back by a massive explosion of energy.
Boom!!
The roar shook the air.
Yondu froze.
His men were tossed over ten meters away, collapsing one by one to the ground.
Had it not been for their protective armor, they would've been blown apart—scattered corpses instead of just bruised bodies.
"What... what is this…?"
The thought barely had time to form in his head.
"Who the hell are you people!?"
He dropped to the ground, sweat drenching his clothes, his body shaking.
As he struggled to breathe, a massive hand reached down.
Then—just as he'd feared—fingers closed around his neck and effortlessly lifted him into the air.
Superman's voice was calm. Too calm.
"Now's not the time for questions."
He stared into Yondu's eyes.
"If you want to live, do as you're told. All I want is for Peter Quill—Star-Lord—to show up. And hand over what doesn't belong to him. Understand?"
"Understood," Yondu croaked.
Realizing they weren't being slaughtered—yet—he felt a wave of relief.
"Whatever you want… I'll cooperate."
Superman gave a slight nod of approval.
"Then act. Now. Send a message to Star-Lord."
"Alright."
As soon as Superman loosened his grip, Yondu exhaled sharply and stumbled back, rubbing his neck.
While sending the transmission, his thoughts raced.
These weren't ordinary enemies. Their strength… their abilities… They had to be among the elite few in the galaxy.
Superman was clearly no nameless powerhouse.
And the woman—
Carol.
That name… it rang a bell.
While the transmission was being sent, the entire Ravager team was stripped of their communicators and bound to the ground, immobilized.
As he stared at the blonde woman, something finally clicked.
"Carol Danfoss…" he muttered.
Then, suddenly—his eyes widened in horror.
"No! That's not her name… she's not Carol Danfoss…"
His voice trembled.
"She's Carol Danvers—a traitor to the Kree Empire. A criminal on the galaxy's most wanted list…"
"It's her. It's definitely her!"
On the other side of the galaxy…
A lone spacecraft drifted through the vastness of space. Inside, Star-Lord—Peter Quill—who had skipped the trade meeting in Knowhere with Superman and the others, received a "greeting" from home.
After reading it, his expression darkened.
Having grown up with Yondu's Ravager crew, Quill immediately understood what the message really meant. Though it looked like a friendly check-in, it was actually a warning.
Yondu and the others were in danger. They were trapped and couldn't escape. The message was a coded plea telling Quill to stay away—to run.
But while Quill was often stingy and obsessed with credits, he wasn't a heartless scoundrel. He cared deeply about his companions.
And Yondu? Yondu had practically raised him. Though neither ever said it out loud, Peter had always seen Yondu as a father figure.
Now, with Yondu and the entire Ravager team in serious danger, how could Peter just turn tail and flee?
"How could this happen?"
His mind was in turmoil.
Just days ago, he'd been in a great mood. The Kree were after a certain object in his possession—something he'd picked up recently. He'd planned to use it to squeeze some extra credits from a mysterious buyer who contacted him through a cosmic black market channel. Surprisingly, the buyer agreed to the high price.
That's when Peter grew suspicious. Something about the whole deal felt... off.
And he was right.
Over the following days, he found himself hounded across multiple systems. Someone—no, several someones—were tracking his every move.
It was clear now: the orb in his possession, the so-called cosmic spirit ball, wasn't just a valuable trinket.
It held a secret—something big.
That's why Peter chose to keep it hidden, determined to uncover its mystery before handing it over.
Then came the message from home.
"Stay away from Knowhere!"
Quill narrowed his eyes, instantly connecting the dots.
Knowhere was the location where he was supposed to meet the mysterious buyer—the person who posted the job.
But he'd flaked on the meeting. Blew them off.
"Could it be them?"
He frowned.
Three powerful individuals, all from Earth...
It had to be them.
"If it is you guys… I swear, I'll make you regret it," Quill muttered under his breath.
But he already had a plan.
Dangerous? Absolutely.
Reckless? No doubt.
But it was the only shot he had at saving Yondu and the crew.
The cosmic spirit ball was his only leverage.
As far as he could tell, three major forces were now on his tail.
First: the three mysterious Earthlings—those responsible for putting Yondu in this mess.
Second: Ronan's forces, the relentless Kree.
Third: a green-skinned woman from a nearly extinct race—the Zehoberei. She was tracking him too, and she wasn't subtle.
All three were after the same thing: the cosmic spirit ball.
If Peter could manipulate these forces into clashing, he could create chaos—just enough to slip in, grab Yondu and the team, and get out.
"The Land of Nothingness…"
As the thought crossed his mind, Quill gave a sly grin.
Then, without hesitation, he steered the ship toward Knowhere.
…
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