The Champions' Quarters were a stark contrast to the filthy holding cells Ben had left behind. Luxurious furnishings, flowing water features, and comfortable living spaces—all designed to pamper the arena's elite fighters and keep them content in their gilded cage.
Ben found himself thinking about Loki as he settled into the opulent surroundings. The Asgardian prince wasn't actually dead, of course. Faking his own demise was practically Loki's signature move, and Ben had caught a glimpse of the real trickster slipping away through an illusion just before the "death blow" had landed. If everything went according to plan, Loki would be out there right now, gathering the scattered resistance forces across Sakaar instead of fleeing to some distant corner of the galaxy.
At least, Ben hoped that was what Loki was doing. The God of Mischief's cooperation would be crucial for what came next.
The sound of gently lapping water drew Ben's attention back to the present. He turned to see Looma relaxing in the ornate hot spring that dominated the quarters' main chamber, her four arms draped casually along the pool's edge, her expression more peaceful than he'd ever seen it.
Never imagined my first co-ed bathing experience would be with an alien princess, Ben thought with dark amusement.
"I still prefer you in your Tetramand form," Looma said, her eyes studying Ben's human appearance with obvious disappointment. "Though I suppose this version has its own charm."
Ben felt a stab of guilt for the deception he'd had to employ during their fight. "I owe you an apology, Looma. I misjudged you completely. You're an honorable warrior, and I look forward to facing you again when the circumstances are... fairer."
His acknowledgment of her integrity brought a genuine smile to Looma's face—the first purely happy expression he'd seen from her since they'd met.
"Of course!" she replied, her enthusiasm infectious. "Once you complete your match, we can have a proper rematch without any interference!"
The thought of another battle clearly energized her, but Ben shook his head, his expression growing serious.
"I'm not talking about another challenge." He rose from the warm water and began dressing, his movements deliberate and purposeful. "You saw what happened out there. The Red King has no intention of honoring the sacred traditions of combat. Allowing someone like him to rule this arena—this entire planet—is an insult to everything warriors stand for."
Ben's voice carried a weight of conviction that made Looma sit up straighter in the water. "A man who doesn't understand honor, who corrupts the very concept of a fair fight—who knows what other schemes he's plotting in the shadows?"
"You want to conquer Sakaar?" Looma asked, though her tone suggested she'd already guessed the answer. A slow nod followed her question. "I've been considering the same thing for quite some time. But it won't be easy to accomplish."
Ben felt a surge of relief. Having Looma as an ally rather than an obstacle would make everything significantly simpler. "You've been planning this too?"
"Don't assume we Tetramand are nothing but mindless brutes who solve every problem with our fists," Looma replied with mock offense, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "I've done my due diligence. The Red King's lieutenant, Caiera, possesses tremendous power—enough to match me in single combat. Beyond that, she has access to advanced armor, exotic weapons, and commands the Death's Head Warguards. I couldn't handle all of that alone."
She paused, studying Ben with calculating eyes. "But with both of us working together... it might be possible. The real problem is the control collar. If we move against the Red King openly in the arena, every fighter will become our enemy whether they want to or not."
"Taking out the leader first won't work as long as those things exist," Looma continued, her tactical mind clearly engaged. "And that's not even considering the Death's Head Warguards. The Red King has had years to build his forces on this planet, and his soldiers carry some truly devastating weapons."
Her expression grew wistful. "If only the Red Wind Legion were here with us. My father's fleet could reduce Sakaar to rubble in a matter of hours."
That explained her initial excitement when she'd first seen Ben's Four Arms transformation. She'd thought he was an emissary from her homeworld, perhaps sent to bring her back or provide military support.
"Unfortunately, we can't count on reinforcements from your empire," Ben said gently. "But we're not limited to just the two of us. There are other fighters in the arena—Beta Ray Bill, for instance, who fought you yesterday. If we're lucky, we might also recruit the Valkyrie and whatever resistance movements exist on this planet."
"War!" Looma's eyes lit up with predatory excitement as she slapped the water enthusiastically. "I love it! When do we start?"
She pressed herself against the edge of the pool, her muscular frame radiating barely contained energy. As a member of a warrior culture, the prospect of large-scale conflict was like offering candy to a child.
"After my next match, the Red King will definitely try to eliminate me," Ben explained, his mind already working through the tactical implications. "But he won't risk doing it himself. He'll send others to handle the dirty work."
Looma nodded knowingly. "My guess is he'll deploy Caiera and the Death's Head Warguards."
"Perfect. If he's willing to divide his forces, we can defeat them piecemeal. By the time the third match arrives, he'll be isolated and defenseless."
"Excellent strategy!" Looma approved. Then her expression shifted to something softer, more personal. "Conquered territories, broken enemies, defeated armies... all we need is an ice creature and the traditional engagement gifts will be complete!" She blinked all four eyes at Ben in what was clearly meant to be a seductive manner. "And we'll have a grand war to celebrate our wedding. You're so thoughtful, my dear!"
Ben felt his blood pressure rise. "I think there's been a misunderstanding," he said quickly. "These aren't engagement gifts—they're the spoils of taking Sakaar. I'm setting up a base here and forming my own unit. I'm calling them the Plumbers."
But Looma had apparently inherited the Tetramand trait of selective hearing when it came to inconvenient facts.
Fortunately, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Brunnhilde, who strode into the quarters with her usual bottle of alcohol in hand and a sardonic smile on her lips.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything intimate?" she asked, though her tone suggested she didn't particularly care either way.
"Only if you can tell me where to find ice creatures on this planet," Looma replied matter-of-factly. "Otherwise, no."
"That depends entirely on luck," Brunnhilde said with a shrug. "I've never seen any ice-based life forms come through the portal. Most creatures that end up here are from warm-climate worlds."
Ben wisely chose not to mention that Loki was technically a Frost Giant. That information could prove useful later, but revealing it now might complicate things unnecessarily.
"Brunnhilde, Looma and I are planning something that might interest you," Ben said instead. "Would you like to hear the details?"
"I'm listening," she replied, taking a long drink from her bottle.
Ben outlined a carefully edited version of their rebellion plan, leaving out the more sensitive details while emphasizing the potential benefits. Brunnhilde listened with the practiced attention of someone who'd spent centuries evaluating risks and rewards.
As a scavenger, she had no particular loyalty to the Red King, and she seemed genuinely indifferent to who ruled Sakaar as long as it didn't interfere with her drinking. But Ben could see her calculating the odds, weighing the potential gains against the very real dangers.
"Brunnhilde, I know you want nothing to do with Asgard," Ben said when he finished. "But I'm not an Asgardian, and Sakaar isn't Asgard. Instead of scraping by as a bounty hunter under the Red King's thumb, why not join us? Think about it—unlimited access to the finest liquors in the galaxy, no more worrying about payment or supplies."
Brunnhilde stroked her chin thoughtfully, her business-minded approach to life clearly engaged. After so many years of survival-focused thinking, she'd become more merchant than warrior.
"You know, if I told the Red King about your little conspiracy, he'd probably pay me enough to drink for the next century," she mused. "But you're in luck—I genuinely despise everything that coward represents."
She extended her hand to Ben, and he shook it firmly, sealing their alliance.
Meanwhile, in the Red King's palace, Angmo-Asan paced his throne room like a caged animal, his face twisted with rage and frustration. Caiera stood nearby, her expression neutral but her posture suggesting she was ready for violence at a moment's notice.
"Princess Looma's passion for combat is well known," Caiera said in what was probably meant to be a comforting tone. "It's natural that she would be angry if she believed Your Majesty had interfered with her fight."
"But I didn't interfere!" the Red King snapped, his voice cracking slightly with indignation. "That's what makes this so infuriating!"
He'd employed underhanded tactics so many times in the past that even his most loyal servants assumed he was lying. The irony of being blamed for something he hadn't actually done would have been amusing if it weren't so damaging to his authority.
Caiera's expression suggested she was humoring a petulant child rather than believing his protests. Oh yes, Your Majesty, of course it wasn't you. I'm sure that fighter just spontaneously decided to collapse and convulse for dramatic effect.
The Red King could practically read her thoughts, and it made his fury burn even hotter. If Caiera had been anyone else, he would have had her executed for such insubordination. But she was his most powerful enforcer, and losing her would be like cutting off his own arm.
Since he couldn't punish Caiera or Looma, that left only one target for his rage.
"That pretender must die!" he snarled, clenching his fists until his knuckles went white. "Schedule him to fight in the Maw for his second match. I want it broadcast across the entire planet so everyone can see what happens to those who defy me!"
"You mean the Great Maw?" Caiera asked, genuine surprise flickering across her usually stoic features.
The Red King's smile was pure malice. "Not just that. You'll be there too, along with the entire Death's Head Warguards. I want him obliterated so thoroughly that there won't be enough left to identify."
"But Your Majesty, what about Princess Looma's reaction?" Caiera hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the escalation. "This level of force seems..."
The combination of forces the Red King was proposing—the Great Maw, plus Caiera herself, plus the elite Death's Head Warguards—was enough firepower to assault a small planet. Using all of that against a single fighter seemed like massive overkill.
"Do as I command!" the Red King roared, his voice echoing off the palace walls.
Caiera had no choice but to comply. Despite her superior strength, she was still controlled by the implant in her spine, and direct disobedience was literally impossible for her.
Only after she left to carry out his orders did the Red King allow himself a cold smile. Even with all those preparations, he wasn't satisfied. As a proper villain, he knew better than to give his enemies any chance of survival.
Moving to a secure communication console, he activated an encrypted channel and spoke into the darkness: "Prepare the death-flame missiles and the spike arrays. If all else fails, we'll reduce that entire section of the arena to molten slag."