Zeydra Dervek stared hard at the flickering holo-screen before her. Its glow washed over her scarred face as the footage looped again and again: a solitary house, buried deep in the spine of one of Planet C-53's largest mountain ranges, a world that had become her reluctant home.
Once, she had been Accuser Zeydra, voice and hammer of the Kree Empire, proud in her service and unquestioning in her loyalty. Once, she had believed in the flawless judgment of the Supreme Intelligence.
But that was before.
Before the betrayal. Before the day the Empire signed peace with the Skrulls an unthinkable surrender after millennia of blood, death, and sacrifice. Zeydra's jaw tightened at the memory. Victory had been close. She knew it. Her project, her soldiers, her experiments all had been on the cusp of breaking the Skrulls. The work of Kree science, fused with her relentless will, would have been enough to end the war. To win.
And then she was… discarded. Abandoned. Betrayed by the machine-mind she had once called god.
That was when she joined the Exodus, the hundreds of thousands of Kree who broke from the Empire to forge their own destiny, free of decrees from a cowardly Supreme Intelligence. They had found this world, C-53. Here they continued their work. Here they would prove their vision had not been in vain.
And they had done it. They had results proof, to many, that the Empire had thrown away its victory. Their experiments had forged perfect, powerful soldiers from the species that called C-53 home, some strong enough to destroy the Skrull Empire on their own.
After years of success, some among them wanted to bring these perfected soldiers back to Hala to show the Empire its mistake and reclaim their place in the great hierarchy. Others whispered of building something new, a power not merely equal to the Empire, but greater. Zeydra had long kept herself neutral, her iron hand keeping both sides from tearing each other apart.
Lately, though… her heart stirred at the thought of conquest. At the thought of war.
She found herself dreaming… dreaming of armies, of fire, of the Skrulls burning once and for all. She dreamed of something greater, something born here. She dreamed of a hidden power buried within Planet C-53 something far beyond their experiments.
Zeydra's thoughts were shattered by the sharp chime of an alert. The comm-screen on her wall flickered to life, and the voice of her subordinate, Arkan Veyl, crackled through.
"My lady," he said, bowing his head low, "we have an update."
Zeydra rose from her chair and swept from her chamber. The corridors of the moon base pulsed faintly with blue light. Their fortress had been carved into the habitable band of this moon, a fragment sustained only because a Watcher had chosen to make his home here. The Watcher never interfered that was his way so long as they left him alone. But his presence was always felt.
She entered the command center. Technicians saluted and bowed as she approached the central dais. Arkan Veyl stepped forward.
"My lady," he began, "the Asgardian, the human, and the anomaly have returned from their journey to the planet's southern poles."
Zeydra narrowed her eyes. "And?"
The screen flickered images appearing. Three figures: the Asgardian, the human sorcerer, and the one they had classified as the anomaly, the bearer of strange emerald constructs that defied every law of physics she knew. She watched them flying above the sea on an emerald construct the anomaly had made.
"What did they retrieve?" she asked.
Arkan hesitated before speaking. "My lady… we believe it to be one of the works of the Builders."
Zeydra's eyes widened, her heart thundering. She took a step forward. "Which one?"
"The Starbrand, my lady."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then her lips curved into a hungry smile. "Prepare the transporter. I wish to visit the Garden."
The officer looked up, uncertain. "My lady… are we enacting the protocol?"
"Yes," Zeydra said without hesitation. "And prepare the fleet as well. I want everything prepared."
"Everything, my lady?" he asked, unsure.
"You yourself have seen what these three are capable of. Our fleet and the experiments from the Garden will be needed to defeat them and retrieve the Starbrand."
The subordinate bowed and rushed to carry out her orders. The command center stirred into frantic motion.
Zeydra turned on her heel, her armor gleaming under the cold lights, and walked to the transporter chamber at the far end of the hall. The device, a circle of humming crystalline pylons thrummed with energy as she stepped onto its platform.
With a flash of blue-white light, she vanished her form whisked instantly across space, bound for the laboratories they called the Garden on Planet C-53.
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Zeydra stepped off the transporter platform. The air here was damp, heavy with salt; the Garden was hidden on a remote island in the western hemisphere of Planet C-53.
Waiting at the edge of the path was Syrah-Mor, lead scientist of the facility. Her eyes were sharp, her grin too wide, the eagerness in her expression almost unsettling. She bowed to Zeydra.
"Welcome, Accuser."
"I am no longer an Accuser, Syrah," Zeydra replied curtly.
"It matters not to me," Syrah said, her voice thick with excitement. "Have you come to—"
"Yes. It's time we use them in battle," Zeydra cut her off. "Show me."
Syrah's grin widened dark and eager as she led her commander deeper into the facility.
They entered the main chamber, where walls of glass observation tanks glowed faintly blue. Inside, ten humans writhed as mists swirled around them—the Terrigen Mist. Their screams filled the room, a sound that made even Zeydra's hardened stomach twist.
Half of them collapsed lifeless within minutes, bodies blackened and brittle as if burned from within. The other half survived but survival came at a cost. Their forms twisted grotesquely: limbs warped, bones bent at impossible angles, skin marred with glowing fissures.
Syrah watched with clinical detachment. "The newer batches show promise. Do not trouble yourself with the failures. What matters is what survives."
Zeydra's eyes narrowed. "And what has survived for me to use, Syrah?"
"Come," the scientist said, motioning her forward. "Let me show you our army."
They moved into a vast adjoining chamber lined with containment cells. Behind reinforced barriers, more than a hundred of the malformed stood slack-jawed, their eyes empty of reason. They shifted and twitched, awaiting only the commands of their masters.
Zeydra frowned. "They look mindless. How will these wretches serve in battle?"
Syrah's tone turned proud, like a parent describing her children. "They are not without use, my lady. We have classified them.
"The large ones we call Bruisers thick-skinned, their brute strength unmatched. By our last estimates, the strongest lifted fifty tons.
"The ones with elongated limbs we call Leapers able to cover two hundred feet in a single bound. Perfect for ambushes.
"Then there are the Screamers they emit sonic vibrations strong enough to shatter stone.
"The Spitters produce corrosive bile; their saliva can burn through almost anything.
"And the best of them, the Mind-Whispers fragile bodies, yes, but their telepathy lets them pierce into minds."
Zeydra remained unimpressed. "These are scraps, just fodder. The enemies we face could defeat them with some effort."
Syrah's grin never wavered. "Then perhaps, my lady, it is time to see the cream of the crop."
She guided Zeydra through heavy, sealed doors into a chamber vast and lit.
There they stood ten humans, upright and disciplined, not mindless like the others. Each radiated power in a different way. One towered at ten feet, muscles layered with armor-like skin. Another pulsed with a steady crimson glow, his veins lit from within like molten fire. One melted into the shadows around him, visible only by the faint shimmer of his eyes. Others bore stranger talents energy manipulation, hardened bone plating, reflexes beyond natural limits.
Syrah's voice dropped into reverence. "These, my lady, are our finest, the Genesis Elite. Soldiers worthy of your conquest."
"Show me what they can do," Zeydra commanded.
The ten warriors displayed their powers in a controlled demonstration. Zeydra found herself nodding in approval; they were formidable, easily strong enough to challenge the Asgardian, the sorcerer, and even the anomaly who wielded green light.
She turned to Syrah with satisfaction. "These ten will suffice. With them, the Starbrand's protectors will fall. You've done well, Syrah."
Syrah basked in the praise, then hesitated. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Finally, she lowered her voice. "My lady… there is something else."
Zeydra's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"There is one more."
"Then why is that one not here?"
"Because, under the old protocols, we purged experiments deemed too dangerous too uncontrollable. But after your decree to cease all purging, we allowed one such subject to live. We keep him contained."
One too powerful…could be very useful, Zeydra thought.
"Show me," Zeydra ordered.
Syrah led her deeper into the Garden, down reinforced corridors lined with armored bulkheads and guarded by silent Kree soldiers. They reached a fortified chamber, its doors layered with thick metal and etched with glyphs of warning.
Zeydra stepped off the transporter platform. Before her stood what looked like a massive suit of armor, its metallic sheen reinforced with energy conduits that pulsed faintly.
Syrah gestured toward it with reverence. "Designation: Veylak. The apex of our work."
Zeydra's brow furrowed. "Why is he sealed inside a suit?"
"Observe," Syrah said with a dark smile. She motioned to three Kree scientists at the consoles. They entered a sequence, and the chamber answered with a metallic groan.
A block of reinforced metal, three meters thick, descended into the room with a heavy clang.
"1A," Syrah said simply.
The armored figure within stirred. Slowly, Veylak raised an arm. The air seemed to ripple.
The metal slab groaned. Its surface warped, buckled, and then without any visible strain collapsed inward, shrieking. In seconds, it was compressed into a sphere no larger than a coin. It hit the floor with a heavy bang, the plating cratering around it.
Zeydra's eyes widened. She understood instantly.
"Gravity," she whispered.
Syrah nodded. "Yes. He can bend the fundamental force itself. When we last measured, his radius of influence was three kilometers at full exertion. Within that range, he can generate fields up to fifty thousand g—enough to immobilize enhanced combatants, liquefy unshielded organics…." She leaned closer, voice dropping with excitement. "And his control is precise. He can scale the force down to individual targets or to the molecular level."
Zeydra's lips curled into a smile. "Such a being… and you thought to purge it." Her tone hovered between admiration and scorn. "That would have been the greatest mistake of your life, Syrah."
Syrah's dark eyes flickered uneasily. "My lady, you do not understand. Subjects like this always lose control. If Veylak's restraints fail… the entire system could be in danger. He could tear planets from orbit… Even we—"
"I care not," Zeydra cut her off. "With him, our victory is assured. That is all that matters. You may purge him after I have what I need. Prepare them all for transport."
Syrah inclined her head, bowing slightly. "As you command, my lady."
Zeydra's mind was already racing with visions… fleets burning through Skrull armadas, Kree traitors kneeling as she wielded the Starbrand, Veylak and others like him at her side, and the Empire itself humbled by what it had abandoned.
Her eyes lingered once more on the armored figure of Veylak, and she smiled, gleeful of what was about to happen.