Ben Parker stepped through the arena gates and was immediately greeted by a thunderous wave of boos. The jeers rolled across the packed stadium like a physical force, each voice dripping with contempt and disappointment. To the bloodthirsty crowd, he appeared even weaker than the Asgardian prince who had just been eaten moments before.
High above the chaos, suspended on her sleek aircraft, Brunnhilde watched the unfolding spectacle with growing unease. Technically, she shouldn't have been granted such premium viewing privileges, but delivering the Red Wind Queen had earned her a measure of favor with the Red King. Now she sat cross-legged on the ship's deck, one knee drawn up, a bottle of Asgardian ale resting against her thigh as she took another long drink and shook her head in dismay.
"What a waste," she muttered, her words slurred slightly by alcohol and regret. "I thought you were smarter than this, kid. Guess I was wrong."
Despite everything, Brunnhilde had developed a grudging respect for Ben during their brief interactions. Among all the fighters she'd captured over the years, he'd been the most honest and well-behaved—never causing trouble, never picking fights with other prisoners. More importantly, he'd helped her sell Loki to the arena at an astronomical price, ensuring she wouldn't have to worry about funding her drinking habits for the next few decades.
She'd actually planned to visit him sometime, maybe share a drink and some war stories. Now it looked like she'd be visiting his grave instead, pouring out ale for the dead once a year.
The drunken Brunnhilde squinted down at Ben, who stood barely taller than a common troll but showed absolutely no fear. Something in his posture, reminded her of someone she'd once known—herself, thousands of years ago. Back when she'd been young and fearless, when she'd charged headlong into battle against Hela for the throne of Asgard, convinced that courage and skill would be enough.
All the Valkyries had been slaughtered that day, leaving her alone to survive, tormented by nightmares and survivor's guilt ever since. She didn't know what kind of belief system had driven Ben to volunteer for this arena, to actively challenge the champion when he could have simply served his time quietly. But in her opinion, he was making the same mistake she had—confusing bravery with stupidity.
Perched on the ornate totem tower that served as the Red King's viewing platform, Looma gazed down at the challenger with a mixture of disappointment and resignation. The challenger looked pathetically weak, his thin arms appearing more fragile than dry twigs, ready to snap at the slightest pressure. His frame was so slight that she wondered if the arena wind might simply blow him away.
"This is supposed to be my opponent?" she asked, her voice carrying the weight of bitter disappointment. She'd been hoping—praying—for someone worthy, someone who might actually provide a challenge. Instead, she was looking at what appeared to be a death sentence disguised as entertainment.
To be fair, Ben looked considerably healthier than the battered Loki had, and his build was more proportioned and athletic than many of the other fighters. But when judging power, most alien races didn't rely solely on physical appearance—they could sense the energy signatures flowing through a warrior's body, the raw power that determined true strength.
"An insect like that dares to challenge the champion?" The Red King's cruel laughter echoed across the platform as he leaned forward in his elaborate throne, savoring the anticipated bloodbath. "Death is the only possible outcome. His only value now is to die spectacularly for my amusement."
Looma shot him a sharp glance, her jaw tightening with barely contained contempt. "At least he has the courage to face a monster barehanded when he knows he can't win."
The barb hit its mark. Everyone knew the Red King was a coward who wouldn't dare enter the arena himself, hiding behind layers of advanced armor and bodyguards even in his own palace.
Down in the arena, Ben heard none of this speculation about his chances. To him, the supposedly terrifying monster looked like nothing more than an oversized punching bag—certainly intimidating to most people, but ultimately just another obstacle to overcome.
The arena rules allowed every warrior to carry weapons, but Ben wore only a set of light ceremonial armor, declining all weapon. He didn't need swords or shields or energy blasters.
Because I have the most powerful weapon in the entire universe, he thought, allowing himself a small smile as he glanced at the device secured to his wrist.
That's when his eyes swept across the elevated platform, and he nearly shouted in surprise.
"Princess Looma?"
There she was—unmistakable despite the distance. The realization hit him like a physical blow, completely reshaping his understanding of the political situation on Sakaar.
"The Red Wind Queen is Looma?"
This changed everything. He'd been operating under the assumption that the Red Wind Queen and the Red King were allied, two threats working in concert. But if Looma held that title, then perhaps there was another path forward—one that didn't require him to fight his way through every power on the planet.
The Sakaarans seemed to operate on a simple principle: might makes right. If he could defeat their champions, prove his strength in terms they understood, then maybe he could win Looma's allegiance instead of her enmity. With her support, plus Loki, Beta Ray Bill, and potentially Brunnhilde, he'd have the core of a formidable organization.
The thought energized him. Even though his "Plumbers" existed only in his imagination so far, he was already planning its structure, identifying potential members. But first, he had to survive this fight and demonstrate his worthiness.
"Looma, it seems your challanger is already smitten," Caiera teased, noting the intensity of Ben's stare.
Looma remained unmoved by the observation, her expression cold and professional. "I have no interest in weak insects. Besides, if he's going to let himself get distracted during a match, he'll be dead within seconds."
As if summoned by her words, the same creature that have eaten Loki began its charge.
When it ran, the ground shook with each thunderous step, and spectators in the lower sections could feel the vibrations through their feet.
And that foolish human was still staring up at the royal platform instead of preparing for battle.
This is suicide, Looma thought. If not for her respect for Ben's courage in volunteering for this hopeless fight, she would have already turned away, unwilling to watch another pointless execution.
But as the monster bore down on its target, something finally seemed to click in Ben's mind.
The light above him faded as the creature's enormous body blocked out the sun. Ben glanced up and saw the beast unfurl all its tentacles, forming a thick, twisting web of muscle that stretched across the sky like a living net. At the center loomed its gaping maw—rows of jagged, spinning teeth arranged in circles, like some nightmarish meat grinder ready to tear through steel.
The arena floor buckled and cracked under the monster's weight as it prepared to crush this insignificant challenger beneath its bulk.
For a moment, the stadium fell silent except for the creature's rumbling growl and the whisper of displaced air. Then—
BOOM!
The sound was like a cannon shot, echoing off the arena walls and startling birds from their perches miles away. A tremendous gust of wind swept across the battlefield, carrying with it the agonized roar of a creature that had never known defeat.
Looma spun back toward the arena just in time to see the impossible: Cork, which had to weigh at least fifty tons, was flying backward through the air like a ragdoll. Half of its body had simply vanished, as if it had been struck by some titanic force that had vaporized flesh and bone in an instant. Chunks of tissue and gallons of dark blood rained down across the arena, coating the screaming spectators in sticky gore.
But instead of complaints, the crowd erupted in wild cheers.
Standing in the center of the battlefield, where the human had been moments before, was a magnificent four-armed warrior. His skin was deep red, his build powerful and imposing, with two pairs of eyes that seemed to burn with inner fire. All four of his fists were raised in triumph, and it was clear to everyone that he had destroyed the creature with a single devastating blow.
The sight of him—so obviously related to the Red Wind Queen—drove the audience into a frenzy of excitement. They didn't know his name or title, but one designation came to mind immediately, shouted by tens of thousands of voices in perfect unison:
"RED KING! RED KING! RED KING!"
The actual Red King, sitting on his throne, went pale as death. In a single moment, his authority had been challenged, his title claimed by another.
He wanted to shout his true identity, to reassert his authority, but the words died in his throat. Instead, his eyes unconsciously sought out Looma, dreading what he might see there.
Sure enough, she was staring at Ben with an intensity that made the Red King's blood run cold.
Just as the Red King was about to voice some objection, Ben looked up at the royal platform and crooked one finger at Looma in an unmistakable challenge.
"Are you challenging me?" Looma asked, her voice carrying clearly across the arena despite the distance. A genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in months.
"Hold on, Looma," Caiera said, her brow creasing with concern. "This goes against protocol. He's supposed to finish 1 more qualifying matches before he can even think about issuing a challenge—"
"I can't wait that long!" Looma interrupted, shoving Caiera aside with barely contained enthusiasm.
Without hesitation, she leaped from the platform.
CRASH!
She hit the arena floor like a red meteorite, the impact creating a crater several feet deep and sending shockwaves through the building's foundation. Dust and debris showered down as the crowd went absolutely wild.
"RED WIND QUEEN! RED WIND QUEEN!"
The chant was deafening, the audience's excitement reaching fever pitch.
In the arena, two four-armed warriors faced each other across the bloodstained sand. Both were clearly of the same species, their similarities unmistakable despite their different builds and scars.
"You're quite handsome," Looma said, her voice carrying genuine warmth and curiosity. "I've never seen you before. Did my father send you to find me?"
Ben's response was to grin widely and slam his four fists together with a sound like thunder. "If you want to know, you'll have to fight me first!"
Far from being offended, Looma's smile grew even brighter. "Now that's the proper attitude!"
The corpse of Corl chose that moment to crash back down to earth, its massive weight hitting the arena floor like a war drum. The sound seemed to serve as a starting signal, and both Tetramand launched themselves forward simultaneously.
When they collided in the center of the arena, the impact created a powerful shockwave throughout the city. The crowd was blown backward in their seats, many knocked unconscious by the sheer force of the collision.
Only now did the full magnitude of what had happened begin to sink in.
The Red King watched the battle with growing dread, his face pale and his hands trembling on his throne's armrests. Everything he'd built, everything he'd claimed, was being challenged by this newcomer who seemed to possess power beyond imagination.
Brunnhilde had been nearly blown off her aircraft by the shockwave, her bottle of ale tumbling into the void below. She stared at the fighting figures with her mouth agape, her mind racing to process what she was seeing.
"You never told me you have this power" she whispered to herself, her voice lost in the chaos of the crowd.
Deep in the gladiator holding cells, Korg pressed his rocky face against the bars, his usually calm demeanor shattered by excitement. The vibrations from the battle above were so intense that fragments of stone were falling from his body, clattering to the floor.
"Wow, I told you he could do it!" he exclaimed to his cellmate.
"When did you say that?" Miek chittered back, his insectoid features twisted in confusion. "You clearly said he was going to die faster than Loki did."
"That's because I didn't know he had four arms," Korg replied reasonably.
"I have dozens of arms," Miek pointed out, revealing a row of segmented arms along his abdomen.
"Yes, but yours are tiny and adorable. His are huge and terrifying."
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