Smoke still rose from the crushed Dark Aster. Fires burned across the wreckage, metal groaning as the massive ship settled onto Xandar's surface. The air was thick with ash and ozone, the smell of destruction clinging to everything.
Sirens echoed in the distance. Civilians ran, guided by Nova Corps officers who had appeared from nowhere to lead them to safety. Ships circled above like wary birds, waiting to see how this would end.
And at the center of it all—
Ronan stepped out of the wreckage.
His armor was cracked, his face streaked with blood and fury. The hammer was in his hand. The Power Stone pulsed within it, casting a terrible purple glow across the battlefield, stretching shadows into nightmares.
The Guardians were scattered. Drax was on one knee, struggling to rise. Gamora was behind a collapsed column, weapon raised. Groot stood protectively in front of Rocket, who was frantically trying to repair a damaged blaster. The Milano was crashed nearby, its speakers somehow still playing a faint, defiant tune that no one was listening to.
Eli was not far from them.
He stumbled toward the group, blood streaking his clothes and face, his white coat torn, his red uniform singed. Every step was a fight. Every breath was a war.
"I really should have smelted something with regeneration," he thought, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. "I can't believe I didn't think of it. The number one power to be the strongest and hardest to kill."
He took another step, dragging himself forward.
"But what should I smelt to get that? Something that can regrow anything… even from pieces…"
His eyes landed on Groot.
"Oh yeah. Groot. Even if he's blown to pieces, he regrows. I need a piece of him after this."
He filed that away for later.
If there was a later.
Ronan stood in the middle of the scattered Guardians, raising his hammer toward Peter. The Stone blazed, casting everything in shades of purple.
"Behold your Guardians of the Galaxy," he boomed, voice echoing with menace. "What fruit have they brought? They have only delayed the fate and judgment I will bring upon Xandar."
He lifted the hammer high, energy crackling around its head, building, charging—
A small rock hit him squarely in the shoulder.
It wasn't much. Barely enough to make him flinch.
But it was enough to make him stop.
Ronan's gaze snapped to the direction it came from.
Eli stumbled into view, dragging himself forward, blood dripping from his face, his body barely holding together.
"You," Ronan said, voice thundering across the battlefield. "The one who dares defy the inevitable."
He aimed the hammer at Eli. The Stone glowed brighter, ready to fire—
Eli reacted instantly.
A quick burst from his blue laser struck Ronan's other hand. The shot wasn't full power—he didn't have the energy, not after everything—but it was precise. It forced Ronan's grip to loosen, disrupting the hammer's charge.
Eli surged forward.
Not near-light speed. Not even Mach 5. Just close to Mach 1. But fast enough. He swung with all he had, fist aimed at Ronan's face—
Ronan caught his arm.
The Kree warlord's strength was immense. He grabbed Eli's wrist like it was nothing, pulled him off balance, drove a knee into his stomach. Air exploded from Eli's lungs. Before he could recover, Ronan swung the hammer.
It slammed into Eli's face.
Pain exploded through him. His brain shook. Blood poured into his mouth. His vision went white, then dark, then he was on the ground, coughing, gasping, struggling to rise.
Ronan stomped on him.
The weight pressed down on Eli's chest, crushing. He tried to move, tried to push up, but his arms wouldn't cooperate. Everything was too heavy.
Ronan lifted the hammer high, the Stone blazing like a purple sun.
"The time has come to rejoice!" he shouted, voice carrying across the battlefield. "Renounce your gods! Your salvation is at hand!"
He looked down at Eli, expecting fear, expecting despair.
He didn't find it.
Eli's vision was blurred. His body was broken. But his eyes were steady. There was hope there. Determination. Sanity.
Ronan paused, confused.
"Why," he demanded, "are you not feeling despair?"
Eli gritted his teeth, blood dripping from his mouth. A smile cracked his bloodied lips.
"Because," he said, voice rough, "I was the distraction."
Ronan's eyes widened—
A blast struck him from behind.
Peter Quill stood ten meters away, blaster raised, face set. The shot staggered Ronan—just a step, just a stumble—but it was enough.
Eli moved.
His leg shot up, kicking Ronan's unbalanced leg out from under him. The warlord lurched. Eli spun on the ground, using the momentum to drive his other foot into Ronan's arm—the arm holding the hammer.
The weapon flew upward.
Rocket's blaster fired.
The shot was perfect. Precise. It struck the hammer, shattering the head, sending the Stone tumbling free.
Less than two seconds. Maybe less.
The Power Stone hit the ground.
The moment it touched Xandar's surface, purple energy erupted outward—a shockwave building, expanding, ready to consume the city.
Peter Quill caught it.
He grabbed the Stone out of the air, his bare hand closing around it.
"PETER!" Gamora screamed.
The power hit him instantly. Purple veins crawled up his arm, across his chest, his face. His skin began to crack, light bleeding through like he was a vessel about to burst.
He reached out.
Gamora took his hand. Drax grabbed her shoulder. Rocket jumped onto Drax's arm. Groot wrapped around all of them.
They screamed.
The power was too much. It was always too much. Nothing mortal was meant to hold an Infinity Stone, and five mortals were still just mortals. The energy tore through them, filling them, burning them, threatening to consume everything.
Eli pushed himself up.
His body screamed. His head pounded. Every part of him wanted to lie down and let someone else handle this.
He didn't.
He reached out and grabbed Peter's shoulder.
The moment he touched them, the power surged. It poured into him—not just from Peter, but from the Stone itself, as if it recognized an empty vessel and rushed to fill it.
His reserves were empty. He'd burned through everything slowing the ship, fighting the Kree, surviving.
Not anymore.
The Stone filled him.
It was too much. Too fast. Too big. The energy overflowed, crashing against his limits, threatening to tear him apart from the inside. His skin began to crack. Light bled through the fissures, purple and blinding.
Peter looked at him, eyes wide with fear and gratitude.
Eli nodded.
Do it.
Peter raised his free hand. The Stone's power gathered—focused, channeled through all of them, through Eli's absorption, through Gamora's will, through Rocket's defiance, through Drax's rage, through Groot's life—
The blast hit Ronan.
The Kree warlord had time for one look of disbelief.
Then he was ash, scattered on the wind.