"Yes... I choose to go to space."
This was a tactful way of saying "I surrender" or "I yield."
It was the restraint and pride that belonged to Iron Man—Tony Stark.
Selene revealed a relaxed smile, as if she had expected nothing less.
"A wise choice, Tony Stark. A talent favored by knowledge such as yourself—killing you would truly be a pity."
She was clearly smiling so beautifully, refreshing and soothing to the soul—so why did her words come out so cold and piercing?
Stark neither confirmed nor denied it. He raised an eyebrow and forced out a faint smile.
By his usual habits, he should have cracked a sarcastic joke at this moment. But the two people in front of him... ahem. If either of them casually tapped his chest with a little fist, he estimated he would drop dead on the spot. Better forget it. They were not familiar yet, and he had not figured out their temperaments. Not the time.
"So I'm honored. To be valued so highly... the name of Tony Stark the genius is recognized even by forces in the cosmos."
He did not know whether to laugh or cry. He lifted a hand to touch his face. The bruises and burns had all healed, and even his skin felt tighter, younger. When that striking woman with serpent eyes, talons, and vulture wings had slashed her claw just now, the bone-chilling sharp air blade had nearly skimmed along his skin.
With precise control that harmed no flesh and preserved his beard and sideburns, it had removed the bandages, scabs, and scars from his face—and even carried healing properties...
It was good that things had not turned ugly.
Stark thought this to himself. He was deeply grateful for the bond he shared with "Little Pepper," Pepper Potts. It was precisely because he had something to care about that he could endure, that he had the chance to calmly think things through after everything settled.
At the same time, his heart still pounded at how close he had come to dancing on a tightrope.
If two days ago, inside the base, when the scope of the Conscription Act had been abused and he had argued bitterly with Secretary Ross, then faced naked threats from aliens—if he had dug in his heels and chosen to resist...
This was no exaggeration. With his unrestrained personality since publicly declaring himself Iron Man, if he had not been held back by his attachment to Pepper, a single wrong thought might have led him to talk tough, get foul-mouthed, try to negotiate—then get beaten into paste.
He had a clear understanding of himself.
The Tony Stark who now seemed almost enlightened inside, adopting a "face the soldiers as they come, block the water as it flows," going-with-the-flow kind of Hua's spirit, made Selene chuckle.
He had underestimated his collectible value in Selene's eyes.
Selene would not wastefully turn such a precious genius brain into meat paste. Of course, controlling his old lover Pepper Potts and Stark Industries, continuing coercion and temptation, high-quality "training," planting subtle mental suggestions and other manipulations—that would be unavoidable.
Then she narrowed her crimson vertical pupils and looked at Tony Stark, who was touching his face with an expression that clearly read, "Why did you heal me? Did you do something to me?"
"Go register."
She spoke lightly.
"Register?"
Selene tilted her head. What else?
Why do you think I healed your face?
For what? Did you think I fancied that pale pretty face of yours?
"You prefer to take a registration photo with bruises, burns, scabs, ointment, and bandages all over your face? That will be uploaded to the central military database as your standard personnel file. Awards, decorations, promotions—all based on that information. If you insist, I have no objection. I can restore it."
Clang clang.
As she spoke, her dark golden claws spread. The talons shifted, producing a sharp metallic scraping sound.
"It's already healed—how could I trouble a lady further? No need, no need..." Raising hi hand in a skilled military salute, Stark refused repeatedly.
Aside from being proud of his achievements in physics, he also cared quite a bit about his slightly handsome, roguishly charming face.
The thought of his alien ID photo showing a face full of wrinkles and burn scars... better not.
"So what will I become? What position will I be assigned? Or will I be thrown into your New York station and trained like an ordinary grunt?"
Getting back to the point, before following the auxiliary officer out of the room, Stark turned his head to ask. Half a second later, as if feeling that was not polite enough, he turned fully around and spoke with proper decorum.
"The thing you are best at, Tony Stark. Welcome aboard, my new colleague. Before reaching the true shore—don't die."
Picking up the red tea on the coffee table with her claws, Selene raised it toward Stark. "All glory be to Selene." She then drained it in one gulp.
Reciting praises to herself came naturally to Selene.
"Oh, oh... all glory be to Selene..."
Still lowering his head and chewing over the phrasing, Stark belatedly echoed the line before leaving. It was far from standard.
Ding.
Setting down the teacup, Selene let out a slightly heavy breath beneath her delicate nose and sat back with a shrug.
Mm. Satisfying!
To have those burdened by destiny, those favored by fate, call out and praise her name—
This feeling truly never grew tiresome, no matter how she savored it!
"Pfft..."
A suppressed laugh.
Selene slowly raised her head and glanced sideways at the ice-blue-haired woman beside her, who was laughing so hard she had collapsed onto the sofa. The full, soft, fair curves on her chest trembled faintly with her restrained laughter.
"Mm?"
What are you laughing at?
Seeing Esdeath's little movement, Selene shot her a look. Though they were not currently in a ruler-subject relationship, such blatant disrespect—she should be careful or she might get beaten.
"Cough, cough..."
Straightening up at once, Esdeath immediately poured Selene another pot of hot tea, signaling surrender—I was wrong. She loved battle, yes, but she was not stupid. Fight Selene? She had been beaten by her since childhood!
Loving battle did not mean fighting like that.
So now, even though Esdeath's hands itched unbearably after gaining new improvements and a new path brought by the "Limiter," she would absolutely not seek out Selene for a fight. It would be meaningless, devoid of passion, devoid of exhilaration—just getting beaten up.
Sitting properly again, Esdeath even ground coffee beans for Selene with a somewhat virtuous air. Mm. Credit to old Mr. Sebas. His etiquette lessons for ladies had at least some effect.
"How is John's situation? How much longer do you plan to stay holed up on Earth?"
"Today is the last day. After all, John is the fleet commander. Though you have the authority to take over, as a Heroic Spirit, it's best not to interfere too much in command. This is his fortune. I asked the Sorcerer Supreme of Kamar-Taj to spend half a week helping and teaching him to master himself."
"And that Saitama?"
"Further study."
Esdeath paused, her hands stopping. She glanced at Selene.
"How long? With his special nature, will the fleet need to wait for him?" she asked.
Selene smiled lightly.
"He is an irregular. Free to act on his own. A hero driven by interest alone will always clash with our military operations. This time, slaughtering the Skrulls at least had an excuse. Next time, we will be the invaders. It would not suit him. Earth is the most suitable place for his growth that I have chosen for him. After all, this is the 'center' of the universe."
"'Center,' hm. It's too peaceful here. There are disputes, and all sorts of... street-costumed heroes? There are indeed vast numbers of mutants with extraordinary abilities, but aren't they too weak? Can they really stimulate his potential?"
"It's not that they are weak. The time has not yet come. The truly great events have not begun. A drifter wandering the streets today might obtain power tomorrow that could overturn an entire fleet..."
Selene's tone carried deeper meaning.
"Besides, I will accelerate his growth. If there is no crisis, then I will guide one into being. Earth will not remain peaceful. Saitama is a special anchor point—a wedge. He will stand in for us and guard our 'tax source.' Protection is his creed. I will give him the stage to fulfill it."
To the current strike cruiser fleet of the Demon Judges Chapter, Earth was nothing more than a tax source.
And Saitama's publicly announced identity to the outside world was that of a stationed tax officer.
As for the Ancient One, as his master, she would be responsible for cleaning up his messes—preventing him from using too much force and turning "disasters" into catastrophes far greater than the original threat due to the aftermath of his attacks. Her abilities were well suited for it. Strong enough, wise enough, and of sufficient status.
"The battles that belong to you... there are countless monsters and demons in the universe. You will be satisfied. Reflect deeply on your insights into the 'Limiter.' It should benefit your true self as well."
Leaning back against the sofa, Selene extended a finger and gently tapped Esdeath's forehead.
"Understood."
Esdeath listened quietly and did not ask further.
Nodding, Selene seemed to recall something. She tapped a few keys on the holographic interface connected to the warship database. The electronic screen stored in the center of the room slowly descended, light and shadow projecting outward.
Displayed upon it—the Earth–Moon orbital fleet.
The cleanup of the battlefield on the dark side of the Moon was nearly complete. The Hero King—Gilgamesh—had been the main force. Only when dealing with the remnants of the Kree Empire's experimental Inhuman subjects had there been some trouble. Gilgamesh had taken a setback, but it was not a major issue. As long as he was not instantly killed, the "Limiter" required setbacks to rise.
Under the siege of multiple Heroic Spirits, the Inhumans were defeated. The Skrull refugee sites were completely annihilated.
Scáthach, meanwhile, had been drifting in outer space, intercepting Captain Marvel, who had been summoned by a pager signal.
"What is Scáthach doing? They've been fighting for nearly three days... Is she using Captain Marvel as a whetstone, testing her new body and the 'Limiter'?"
The woman who had mutated after being directly irradiated by the Tesseract's cosmic energy during a light-speed engine test accident—the human–Kree hybrid glowing woman—was indeed powerful. Strength far beyond human limits, a body capable of roaming the cosmos unaided, in one word—tough. Countless energy blasts and absorption abilities as well...
One purple, one golden—two young old women—had fought for nearly three days. From Earth's orbit to the Moon, from Mars to Jupiter, traces of their clashes were everywhere. The brilliant streaks left behind by unleashed energy resembled faint nebulae blooming in space, lingering for a long time before dispersing.
"Let them fight."
Selene looked toward the Ice General, whose eyes brimmed with battle intent. "Esdeath, do not allow them to enter low Earth orbit. Clear away any asteroid debris and falling meteorites caused by their battle."
After speaking, she gave Esdeath a slight nod.
Sizzle—
Golden-red sparks from a sling ring burst forth. Selene's terrifying Beast Goddess form vanished.
...
Meanwhile, in the outskirts of a city in Missouri—Catherine Town.
"Peaceful... Hometown really is a strange feeling."
Temporarily setting aside the responsibilities of the Guardians of the Galaxy and no longer burdened by the identity of an interstellar outlaw, returning to his birthplace—to the place where his mother once lived—his nearly ninety-year-old grandfather still alive, finishing a long conversation with the old man about stories of the past, Star-Lord, Peter Quill, stepped onto the small second-floor balcony and sighed from the bottom of his heart.
The New York incident seemed not to have disturbed the tranquility here. The townspeople still went to work as usual, carried on their trades as usual.
Oh, except for families with relatives on death row. They had received notices that their loved ones would be conscripted. It was essentially a death exemption notice—if they wished to see them, now was the time.
"It seems Master Chief is an honest man. They never even considered establishing direct rule. Just 'collecting taxes.'"
Gamora walked out, holding today's newspaper. She pointed at the published New York Treaty and the photo of the Black President shaking hands with Master Chief.
"Are Rocket and Groot behaving?" Peter asked.
"They're fine. Your grandfather seems to like them. He even bought Groot an NS game console," Gamora said with a faint smile. These two days of family warmth seemed to have softened some of the killing intent around her.
"Your neighbors are surprisingly open-minded. They accepted our existence so easily."
"They think you're mutants," Peter laughed.
When Gamora had first been spotted by a neighbor, someone had actually called the police. Officers had come—with a draft summons. It was only when the auxiliary recruitment officer in Missouri recognized the Guardians of the Galaxy that the situation was resolved amicably, exemptions granted, and legal transit passes issued.
"Conscription..."
Just then—
Rattle—
Rat-tat-tat! Bang bang!
"Gunshots!"
By reflex, Gamora reached for her folding energy blade. "Whoa, whoa—calm down! This is Earth. We're not fighting space pirates!"
"What's going on? What's going on..." Soon, the rest of the team emerged in casual clothes. Drax the Destroyer was even wearing a pink bathrobe.
"Don't worry. That bunch has started too." It was Peter's grandfather's booming voice.
An elderly white man stepped onto the balcony and pointed toward the main road leading into the city. "A protest march... Peter, don't they have that sort of thing in outer space?"
Because of their proximity to the main road and the view of the city skyline, reporters had already lined up in droves. In the distance, large numbers of townspeople and city residents held signs reading "Diversity," "Environmental Protection," "Oppose Death Quotas," "Criminals Are Free—You Have No Right to Abuse Their Remaining Lives," and so on.
And then...
"Disperse the crowd!"
Large numbers of military police surged forward, forming riot shield walls. They raised shotguns loaded with rubber bullets and fired. Tear gas and pepper rounds burst out in a storm of crack crack crack, smoke billowing everywhere. Taser cartridges fluttered through the air like scraps of paper.
"No—you can't do this! We're protesting legally—ah!"
"Your march is illegal! Under emergency authorization from Washington, ratified by the state legislature and signed by the governor, Missouri prohibits all demonstrations related to the New York Treaty! Your current actions endanger public safety—treasonous, anti-human!"
"You have one minute to disperse! Do so and past offenses will be forgiven! Otherwise, multiple charges will be compounded!"
Fully armed officers did not even wait for the countdown to finish. They swung batons hard at protesters still holding signs—
A "heartwarming" scene of soldiers and civilians becoming one.
Orders had come from above. This operation imposed no weapon restrictions against the protesting crowd. Those who stubbornly resisted could be killed. Such an opportunity—no liability, no interference from other agencies—was rare.
Unruly rabble? Beat them!
"Wahaha! Hit there, hit there!" Drax roared with laughter. "Quill, I like this place. Is this your culture? Legion exercises?"
"Idiot, you can't even aim straight—look, someone's sneaking up, behind you!" Rocket the raccoon chimed in, shouting along.
A breeze stirred Gamora's red hair. She looked around at her companions, who were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, and suddenly asked, "Quill... have we been too slack lately?"
"Maybe. But you gain some, you lose some."
Peter countered, "I plan to spend more time with Grandpa. We're not short on money. If we don't spend extravagantly, this last deal is enough for us to live comfortably for many years. Let's treat it as a team vacation."
"..." Gamora still looked uneasy.
After all, her father...
...
Kamar-Taj.
"Saitama, you must focus your mind... Confront difficulties and overcome them, rather than fleeing. You must memorize this thousand-character ancient scripture."
—
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