Ronan sneered, even at the edge of defeat.
"I am the Accuser of the Kree Empire. The Empire will retrieve me through diplomacy. You cannot touch me."
Lock's gaze sharpened, voice turning icy.
"You misunderstand. I wasn't talking about taking you prisoner. I was talking about taking your life."
He didn't waste another word.
Lock raised a finger, and a pulse of violet-blue spatial energy shot forward.
It struck Ronan dead center.
The Kree warlord stiffened, eyes wide with disbelief. His body trembled violently, and then — with a sound like porcelain cracking — fissures spread across his frame.
A heartbeat later, Ronan shattered completely, his body disintegrating into gray dust that scattered and vanished without a trace.
More than twenty years ago, Carol Danvers had spared him. Out of pity for the Kree, and perhaps because she hadn't fully understood Ronan's cruelty.
In the time since, who knew how many worlds had burned at his command?
Lock would not repeat her mistake.
The Nova Empire would have captured him, put him on trial, and dragged things through endless diplomacy.
The Kree Empire would have had time to respond, to negotiate, to pressure Nova Prime — and sooner or later, Ronan might have walked free, ready to kill again.
Lock ended it here.
He had already made himself an enemy of Thanos by stopping Ronan's plot. He had already made himself an enemy of the Kree by cutting down their Accuser. One more death meant nothing.
At last, the feared Ronan the Accuser — scourge of Xandar — was gone.
Only then did Lock check with Nova Prime:
"All bombs are clear?"
Nova Prime confirmed. "Every star-destroyer bomb has been removed from the planet — including the one in Ronan's mothership segment."
Lock nodded once, then dissolved the space barrier.
The sealed kilometer of warped air rippled like water, the bent light straightening as reality stitched itself back together.
When the barrier vanished completely, the trapped detonation signal finally escaped into the void — too late to harm anyone.
A moment later, silent flashes lit up the heavens.
Dozens of star-destroyer bombs went off in the emptiness of space, throwing a black curtain of dust and debris across the sky.
Xandar fell into shadow.
For several long minutes, the world was plunged into darkness, all starlight and satellite comms cut off.
Then slowly, the shroud cleared.
The threat of planetary annihilation was gone.
"We… we won…" someone whispered.
And then the cheering started.
From the cities to the countryside, from the war room to the streets, Xandarians wept and shouted.
Commander Rhomann Dey collapsed where he stood, too exhausted to move.
Nova Prime gripped the edge of her console to steady herself, tears burning at the corners of her eyes — but she held her composure.
No one outside Xandar could ever truly understand their grief. These were their families, their friends, their neighbors who had died today.
And that was why their gratitude to Lock, to Star-Lord, to Gamora, to Rocket and Groot, to all who had stood and fought — was so profound.
Citizens ran to the parks, tearing flowers and grasses from the green belts, weaving them into garlands on the spot.
One by one, they hung the wreaths on the Guardians, bowing deeply in thanks.
Even Nebula's two red-skinned attendants were brought forward and honored, their bodies soon draped in flowers.
Only Lock was left untouched.
He stood at the center, calm, silent, radiating divine majesty.
The Xandarians did not dare approach.
They could only gather in a wide circle, kneel, and hold their garlands high — offering tribute from a distance as though worshipping a god.
Because to them, that was what he was.
The one who had saved their world.
Soon, a formal escort arrived to lead the heroes to the capital building.
Lock walked at the front, Star-Lord and the rest following like attendants in a divine procession.
Crowds lined the streets, holding flowers and cheering, as if following a living savior.
Star-Lord, finally able to relax, fell into step beside Gamora.
"Hey, you know," he said, flashing his crooked grin, "that wreath looks great on you. Really brings out the green in your skin. And the flowers are red — perfect color contrast—"
Gamora shot him a flat look. "Are you calling me grass?"
"No, no!" Peter waved frantically. "I mean you're more beautiful than flowers. Way more."
Gamora just frowned, unamused.
Drax suddenly stepped between them.
"He wants to mate with you," he said matter-of-factly.
Peter's jaw dropped. "What—"
Drax nodded solemnly. "When I met my wife, I told her she was beautiful as well. We mated that night."
The entire group fell silent.
"Why would you say that out loud?!" Peter groaned.
"Was I wrong?" Drax tilted his head.
Peter rubbed his face. "I am not having this conversation with you."
Nebula leaned toward Gamora.
"Sister," she said dryly, "you should be careful. There isn't a normal one in your team."
Gamora's brow arched. "And what about Lock? He's— he's practically a god."
Nebula's lips quirked. "Exactly. And I've heard he likes women with unusual skin colors."
Lock, walking in front, almost tripped.
These are the Guardians of the Galaxy? he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. The team that just saved a planet?
He said nothing — for now.
At last, they arrived at the capital building, where Nova Prime and the full Nova Council waited.
The leaders of Xandar bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Mr. Lock. Thank you, all of you," Nova Prime said, her voice solemn but warm.
"You are the heroes of Xandar."
After a public address to lift morale and recount the battle — praising Lock, Star-Lord, Yondu, and the others by name — the group was brought inside for private discussion.
"We must settle the matter of recognition and reward," Nova Prime said. "Star-Lord — are you predators, or part of Mr. Lock's people?"
The mix was strange — a Terran outlaw, an assassin, a talking raccoon, a walking tree, two of Thanos' daughters, and even two red-skinned maids.
Nova Prime needed to be sure of who she was rewarding.
Lock spoke for them.
"It's complicated. Quill is of my bloodline, but also a Ravager. They're not quite a tribe — but for now, they are my team."
Nova Prime nodded. "Then we should give this team a name."
Peter shrugged. "Uh… we never really thought about it."
"Then I have a suggestion," Nova Prime said with a faint smile.
"Guardians of the Galaxy."
"If you remain in the Milky Way and ever need our aid, the Nova Empire will answer. And if we ever require your help, we hope you will answer in turn."
Lock narrowed his eyes slightly.
He could sense the hidden calculation behind her offer.
She wouldn't dare recruit him directly — he was too powerful, too beyond mortal chains.
But if she brought Star-Lord's group under Xandar's banner, she might secure Lock's indirect support in future crises.
And still…
This was a moment the timeline seemed to insist upon.
If he refused this name, perhaps the Guardians of the Galaxy would never be born.
What would that do to the sacred thread of fate?
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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