William stood amidst the chaos, his massive, ape-like form framed by the inferno of annihilated warships. The Flaxans, once a tide of overwhelming force, now scrambled desperately to flee into the void of space, their unity shattered, their coordination lost. Their weapons still fired at him, but it was no longer the disciplined barrage of an invading army, now, it was the panicked flailing of a doomed species, their shots erratic, scattered, ineffective. Each blast dissipated harmlessly against his shimmering aura, unable to so much as scratch the titan standing before them.
A deep, primal growl rumbled from William's chest as his maw began to glow a smoldering crimson. A storm of volatile, rage-infused ki swirled within his throat, raw destruction given form. The very air, if there had been air in space, would have vibrated with the sheer malevolence of the energy being forged within him. His eyes burned with golden fury, locking onto the fleeing vessels with the precision of a predator ensuring no prey escaped its grasp.
At that moment, a chill crawled down the collective spines of every Flaxan in the fleet. Though space was cold, this was a different kind of cold, the kind that came not from nature but from the whisper of death itself.
Then, William unleashed it.
A sphere of devastating energy erupted from his mouth, an unstable, pulsating mass of fury made manifest. It burned with such intensity that it left an afterimage seared into the optical nerves of those who dared to look directly at it. The instant it left his mouth, it was already too late.
The Flaxan flagship quaked as alarms screamed across its many corridors. Inside, the Flaxan king, his ornate battle regalia now useless in the face of annihilation, stood frozen in terror. His advisors and sycophants scrambled around him, clawing over each other in their rush to the escape pods. The chamber was filled with the sound of desperation, frantic breathing, panicked commands, the dull impact of bodies shoving past one another. The pods fired one by one.
"DOO! DOO! DOO! DOO! DOO! DOO!"
The king, along with his chosen elite, ejected just in time, abandoning the remainder of their forces to their fate. The rest of the escape pods, meant for officers and soldiers, were unceremoniously shot into the void, emptied into the abyss in the selfish frenzy to prioritize their own survival.
And then—
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
Space turned white. For a brief, impossible moment, existence itself seemed to pause as reality struggled to contain the sheer force of the explosion. Then, sound, impossible, deafening, all-consuming, shattered the silence of space. It was a sound that did not belong in the vacuum, yet it resonated within the souls of all who bore witness.
Then came the pull.
The explosion did not simply destroy. It ruptured space itself. The sheer force collapsed inwards, birthing something far worse than a mere explosion. A singularity, a black hole, moon-sized and merciless, gaped where the fleet had once stood. The horror was instantaneous. Entire warships, some the size of small moons, were torn from their flight paths and dragged toward the abyss. Some vanished in an instant, their bulk incapable of resisting the inexorable pull. Others fought, engines flaring desperately, but they only delayed the inevitable.
Inside the escape pods that had managed to flee, the Flaxan king and his entourage could only watch in mute, horrified disbelief. The fleet, his empire's might, was being devoured before his eyes.
On the main viewing screen of his pod, he saw the faces of his officers and soldiers, screaming into their comms, pleading for salvation, before their signals were cut short as their vessels crumpled, spaghettified, then ceased to exist.
Then came a different kind of horror.
The king let out a strangled gasp as he felt something cold press against the back of his neck. A sharp, jagged piece of metal. He barely had time to process the sensation before it drove deep into his flesh. His body spasmed, his vision flashing red as a fountain of purple blood sprayed forward, splattering the walls of the pod.
One of his slaves, a woman whose name he had never bothered to learn, stood behind him, her face illuminated by the crimson emergency lights. For the first time in her life, she was free. And she had used that freedom to carve her vengeance into the king's flesh.
It was over in seconds.
The king's lifeless body slumped forward. But there was no triumph. One of the royal guards, too slow to react, finally raised his weapon and fired. The energy bolt struck the woman square in the chest, sending her crashing against the pod's wall. She slid down, coughing up purple blood, but her lips curled into a smile. A smile of victory. A smile of defiance. She had slain the one who had taken everything from her.
Her body stilled. But she had already won.
Meanwhile, William himself was caught in the gravitational pull of the black hole. His colossal form, still in his ape transformation, tumbled toward the singularity, the very force of his own attack threatening to consume him. But his will would not allow it. His three lantern rings flared, their energies intertwining to form a barrier against the void's pull. Red, yellow, and green light shone like defiant stars against the endless darkness.
From the ruins of the battlefield, the few remaining Flaxan survivors, those fortunate enough to be far from the singularity's grasp, drifted in stunned silence. Their civilization, their fleet, their very way of life had been erased in a single moment. Their world would never recover.
The solar system, once thriving, had been irrevocably altered. Where once warships had hovered in formation, there was now only the hungry maw of the void, an eternal reminder of the devastation wrought this day.
This place, now and forever, would be known as Ape's Maw, a graveyard in space, a cautionary tale whispered among the stars. The day an ape from Earth had nearly erased an entire species.
And among the few who lived to tell the tale, there was one truth that none could deny:
This was not the work of a man.
This was the judgment of a god.
Back on Earth, the battlefield was a smoldering ruin of carnage and chaos. The scent of charred metal and scorched flesh hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke rising from wrecked buildings and shattered vehicles. The Guardians of the Globe had been cornered, their bodies strained and battle-worn, held at gunpoint by the remaining alien foot soldiers. Their fate seemed sealed.
Then, like vengeful spirits descending upon the damned, Anissa and Sif joined the fray. They moved like bladed whirlwinds, carving through the lesser aliens with brutal efficiency. Anissa's fists crushed skulls with the ease of a god snapping twigs, while Sif's blade flashed in elegant arcs, painting the streets with alien blood. Limbs were severed, bodies bisected, and the road was soon littered with torn carcasses of every shape and size. Their enemies barely had time to register their doom before they were erased from existence.
The Guardians barely had a moment to recover, catching their breath amid the slaughter, when a sudden shift in the atmosphere sent a cold chill through the battlefield.
A portal, swirling with malevolent energy, tore itself open in the sky.
From its depths stepped Thragg, his presence suffocating, his expression carved from stone. He was the epitome of Viltrumite supremacy, radiating a raw, unchecked power that made even the bravest warriors hesitate. Beside him, Conquest grinned hungrily, the battle-lust gleaming in his aged yet deadly eyes, while General Krieg stood like a silent executioner, his expression unreadable but no less menacing.
A heavy silence followed, thick with tension. Then, Conquest's voice shattered the quiet, dripping with venomous mockery.
"Well… If it isn't the traitorous whore, Anissa."
His boots thudded against the cracked pavement as he took an arrogant step forward, a sickening excitement gleaming in his eyes. He lived for pain, both giving and receiving, and the prospect of battle ignited something primal within him.
Anissa, unshaken, met his gaze with cold amusement, her arms crossing over her chest as a smirk curled her lips.
"Looking for an early death, old man?" Her voice was smooth, laced with supreme confidence.
Conquest's jaw tightened, his muscles coiling in barely contained fury. To him, defiance was intolerable, especially from one he considered beneath him.
The tension between them reached a boiling point.
Then, without a word, they moved.
Like forces of nature colliding, they launched at each other, fists meeting in an earth-shattering clash. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, shaking the very foundation of the city. Buildings groaned under the pressure, shattered glass rained down like deadly snowflakes, and the very air trembled from the force of their blows.
"BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!"
The city trembled beneath the relentless fury of their battle, the very foundation of the streets quaking with every explosive impact. Shockwaves rippled outward, toppling streetlights and sending abandoned vehicles skidding across the pavement. Fires raged in the distance, their orange glow painting the battlefield in an eerie, flickering light as Anissa and Conquest clashed in a brutal, bloody melee.
The veteran Viltrumite had already lost his false arm, sparks hissing from the damaged limb, yet his twisted grin remained. Meanwhile, Anissa stood her ground despite a gaping wound in her shoulder, flesh and muscle torn away as if something had taken a monstrous bite out of her. Blood ran down her arm in thick rivulets, but her golden eyes burned with unyielding defiance.
Not far from them, Lady Sif and General Krieg engaged in their own vicious duel, their battle shaking the war-torn streets. The Asgardian warrior had abandoned her sword, honoring the unspoken code of combat upon realizing her opponent wielded no weapon of his own.
"BANG, BANG, BANG, SLAP, CRASH!"
The clash of fists echoed as they exchanged relentless blows. Krieg, with his brutish strength, managed to land a sudden backhand, too fast to be seen, too powerful to be blocked. The impact sent Sif hurtling backward like a comet, her body crashing through the concrete of a high-rise building before bursting through the other side. She landed with a sickening crunch atop a totaled car, its metal frame caving beneath her.
A thin trickle of crimson blood dripped from the corner of her lips as she wiped it away, her steel-gray eyes locked onto her opponent with unwavering fury. As she sensed Krieg's rapid approach, she tightened her grip on the ground beneath her, every muscle in her body coiling like a spring.
The moment Krieg loomed over her, she struck.
With all the force of Mjolnir's fury, her uppercut connected with his jaw. The impact was cataclysmic.
"BOOOOOOM!"
Krieg's body rocketed skyward, vanishing into the clouds as a concussive shockwave tore through the battlefield. The ground cracked, debris was hurled in all directions, and every remaining shard of glass in the vicinity shattered into fine dust. Fortunately, the civilians had long since been evacuated, had they remained, the sheer force of the strike would have torn them apart.
A few blocks away, another confrontation was brewing, one no less intense.
Mark stood rooted in place, staring down his father. Nolan, the once-unshakable warrior, now seemed hesitant, his expression torn between conflict and regret. But any moment of introspection was abruptly shattered as a shadow fell over them.
Thragg.
The Viltrumite Grand Regent's massive form eclipsed Nolan's entirely as he stepped forward, his gaze locking onto Mark's burning, hate-filled eyes. The tension between them crackled like static before Thragg's voice rang out, deep and commanding, carrying an air of absolute certainty.
"Good," he said, his lips curling into a grim smile. "You will make a fine soldier after I break you."
His words were not a threat. They were a promise.
"WHOOSH!"
Thragg moved like a force of nature, a blur of muscle and speed as he shot toward Mark with terrifying precision. The younger Viltrumite tried to dodge, instincts screaming at him to move, but he was just a fraction too slow. Thragg's massive hand clamped down on Mark's face like an iron vice, his grip unyielding, his fingers digging into flesh.
Then came the impact.
Mark was driven into the ground with earth-shattering force, the concrete shattering beneath them as Thragg bulldozed forward, dragging Mark's body through asphalt, steel, and stone. The cityscape blurred past in a streak of dust and debris, buildings crumbling in their wake as the sheer velocity of their movement tore apart the landscape.
Gritting his teeth against the agony, Mark's mind raced for a way out. Desperation gave birth to instinct. With every ounce of strength, he coiled his legs against Thragg's torso and drove his feet forward in a devastating double kick to the regent's gut.
"BOOOOM!"
The shockwave tore through the air as Thragg was hurled backward like a cannonball, his form carving through the city skyline before slamming into the ground several blocks away. His impact left a cratered wasteland in his wake, trenches forming beneath his feet as he skidded to a halt. Dust and rubble filled the air, obscuring the battlefield for a moment.
But Mark wasn't about to waste time. He surged forward, his body launching into the air like a missile, his training under William kicking in instinctively. He wasn't going to give Thragg a moment to recover. Not now.
As the dust settled, Thragg stood, his hand pressed against his gut where Mark had landed his kick. His expression was unreadable, until his eyes snapped up, filled with something between irritation and amusement.
Then Mark was on him.
A flurry of strikes erupted between them, Mark weaving in and out of Thragg's guard, fists and kicks landing in rapid succession. Each blow was precise, calculated, William's teachings manifesting in every movement. He wasn't just throwing punches; he was outmaneuvering, applying relentless pressure.
For the first time in the battle, Thragg took a step back.
Nolan and Lucan, standing nearby, could only watch in stunned silence, their mouths slightly agape. Was Mark actually holding his own?
"BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!"
The city trembled beneath their blows, each impact sending ripples of destruction outward. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, of titanic strength clashing, was deafening. But even as Mark stood his ground, Thragg still held the edge. His strikes carried a weight that could crush mountains, his killing intent razor-sharp, each attack meant to end the fight in an instant.
Blood began to paint the battlefield, splattering across the ruins of the city in gruesome arcs. The streets ran red, the sight eerily biblical to those who would witness it later.
And the battle was far from over.