The rainbow light faded like a dying star, leaving behind only the acrid scent of ozone and superheated metal. In the sudden silence that followed, a figures lay motionless among the twisted wreckage of what had once been a pristine desert landscape.
Loki sprawled unconscious across a bed of crystallized sand, his form a study in godly humiliation. The Destroyer's magnificent armor hung from his frame in tattered fragments, each piece a testament to the Rainbow Bridge's devastating power. Stranger still were the dark fissures that crisscrossed his exposed skin—wounds that seemed to pulse with their own internal light, as if something otherworldly had taken residence within his flesh.
From those very cracks, a shadow began to emerge.
Ben's Ghostfreak form separated from Loki's unconscious body like smoke dissipating in reverse, his ghostly essence gradually forming into a more recognizable humanoid shape. The possession had served its purpose perfectly—Loki's godly constitution had absorbed the worst of the Rainbow Bridge's dimensional stresses, leaving Ben free to observe their space journey without suffering its consequences.
With Loki unconscious and no longer channeling godly power into the armor, the Destroyer's fragments began falling away like autumn leaves. Each piece struck the ground with metallic chimes that echoed across Sakaar's junkyard landscape, a funeral dirge for one of Asgard's greatest weapons.
Ben watched the systematic collapse with mixed emotions. On one hand, seeing such magnificent craftsmanship reduced to scrap was genuinely painful. On the other hand, those scattered pieces represented an opportunity too valuable to ignore.
Transforming back into Diamondhead, Ben began the delicate process of salvage and storage. His crystalline limbs reshaped themselves into specialized tools, carefully gathering each fragment of Uru metal while analyzing its internal structure for future reconstruction. When the collection was complete, he encased everything within a protective crystal box and sent the entire package deep underground, far from the prying eyes of Sakaar's notorious scavenger population.
The storage solution was far from ideal—on Earth, such crystalline formations might escape detection for decades. But Sakaar's inhabitants had elevated opportunistic scavenging to an art form, and they would quite literally move mountains to uncover valuable materials.
Still, Ben had few alternatives. The Omnitrix provided no dimensional storage capabilities, and carrying pieces of the Destroyer openly would invite unwanted attention from every treasure hunter on the planet. Underground storage would have to suffice until he could arrange more secure accommodations.
"Sakaar," Ben murmured, surveying his new environment with tactical interest. "Not exactly the vacation destination the travel brochures promised."
The planet stretched before him like a cyberpunk fever dream made manifest. Mountains of discarded technology rose toward blood-red skies, their slopes composed of everything from primitive wheeled vehicles to sophisticated starships. Barely visible beneath the accumulated debris were hints of Sakaar's original landscape—red stone and fertile soil that spoke of a world that had once been beautiful.
The air quality was surprisingly tolerable, despite the planet's reputation as the universe's dumping ground. Most civilizations were practical enough to dispose of truly hazardous materials through methods that didn't involve atmospheric entry, and the intense heat generated during orbital descent tended to sterilize anything organic before it could pose contamination risks.
The real dangers on Sakaar weren't environmental—they were political.
Ben's ultimate objective lay at the heart of the planet's power structure: the Grand Arena, where Sakaar's ruler entertained himself by forcing captured aliens to fight for the amusement of crowds. That arena represented the largest concentration of genetic diversity anywhere in the known galaxy, with specimens from hundreds of different worlds competing for survival on a daily basis.
From a purely tactical standpoint, most alien species weren't significantly more powerful than Ben's current transformations. The ten aliens provided by the Omnitrix had been selected specifically for their versatility and effectiveness across a wide range of scenarios. But raw power had never been the watch's primary purpose.
Azmuth had designed the Omnitrix as a tool for fostering understanding between species, not as a weapon of conquest. Ben's mission involved preservation as much as personal enhancement—collecting genetic samples that might otherwise be lost to war, natural disaster, or simple bad luck.
Of course, the practical benefits were undeniable. Each new transformation provided unique capabilities that could prove invaluable in future conflicts. The Skrulls' shapeshifting abilities, the Kree's technological integration, the Flora Colossus regeneration—every species offered something that could expand Ben's tactical options.
"Probably won't find any Skrulls or Kree in the arena," Ben admitted to himself, studying the industrial landscape that surrounded him. "Both empires are too powerful to let their people end up as gladiator fodder."
But that was fine. The universe contained thousands of species, and even those without obvious combat applications often possessed unique traits worth preserving. The true challenge wouldn't be finding interesting specimens—it would be gaining access to them.
That meant infiltrating the arena system, either as a gladiator or as someone with enough authority to study the fighters directly. Given Sakaar's power structure, the former seemed more practical than the latter.
Ben's timeline for this objective was uncomfortably tight. Midtown High School would resume classes in exactly one month, and despite his growing responsibilities, he couldn't simply abandon his civilian identity.
The sound of approaching engines interrupted his planning. More than a dozen spacecraft were converging on his position from various directions, their mismatched designs reflecting Sakaar's scavenged aesthetic. Each ship bristled with improvised weapons and salvage equipment, their crews undoubtedly drawn by the Rainbow Bridge's spectacular arrival.
Ben quickly assessed his options. Fighting his way through multiple scavenger crews would be possible but counterproductive—it would establish him as a threat rather than a potential asset. Better to play the part of a helpless crash survivor and let the scavengers transport him directly into Sakaar's gladiatorial system.
Deactivating his transformation, Ben collapsed beside Loki's unconscious form and forced his breathing into the shallow rhythm of someone barely clinging to consciousness. From this position, he could observe the approaching ships while maintaining his cover as just another piece of valuable debris.
The spacecraft that arrived first was sleek and predatory, its black hull marked with scorched impact craters that spoke of numerous firefights. When its pilot's voice crackled across the local communication frequencies, the tone carried absolute authority despite its slurred delivery.
"This salvage is mine," the voice declared with drunken certainty. "Anyone who disagrees can take it up with my targeting system."
The response came not in words but in weapons fire. Energy beams and projectile rounds crisscrossed the sky as the black ship opened fire on its competitors, its pilot apparently unconcerned with conventional scavenging etiquette.
Most crews would have exercised more caution—damaged merchandise was worthless merchandise, and firefights tended to be expensive regardless of outcome. But whoever piloted the black ship seemed to view conventional wisdom as suggestions rather than rules.
Within minutes, the one-sided battle was over. Burning wreckage littered the junkyard landscape while the victorious ship settled to the ground with mechanical precision.
When the airlock cycled open, Ben got his first clear look at Sakaar's most successful scavenger.
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