The Ravager Dreadnought - Deep Space
"Ten years," a Ravager muttered, spitting a glob of blood onto the metal deck.
"We have to serve him for ten years without a single credit of compensation? It's humiliating."
Stakar turned, his eyes flashing with a cold, exhausted fury.
"You think we still have a choice?" Stakar hissed.
He pointed a finger at the viewport, where the molten wreckage of the mercenary fleet still drifted in the void.
"He could have slaughtered us with a single thought. He dismantled us without breaking a sweat."
"But even if he let us walk away," Stakar continued, "do you think the syndicates would let us live?"
The Ravagers fell silent, looking at the debris field.
"His ship just annihilated their vanguard," Stakar said grimly.
"They wouldn't dare hunt him. But they would hunt us. We would become the punching bag for the entire sector."
Stakar looked at the empty airlock Ernst had departed through.
"We use his terrifying power as a shield. It's the only way we survive this."
Stakar narrowed his eyes, a dark realization settling over him.
"In fact, I believe he orchestrated this entire scenario. I believe he waited for the armada to trap us, just to force our allegiance."
Curses echoed through the shattered hangar.
"Damn it, he is a monster," one of the lieutenants whispered.
"I wondered why he was so generous. Why didn't he execute us for the ambush? He was just waiting to spring the trap."
"Be content that we are caught in it," Stakar commanded sharply.
"If we were useless, we would be floating outside. In the coming weeks, we must be careful. We will hunt down the remnants of those fleeing fleets and equip ourselves with their salvage."
Stakar looked at his battered crew, his expression deadly serious.
"If necessary, I will willingly join Mr. Ernst after the ten years expire. Whether you choose to stay or not, think it over carefully."
The Ravagers straightened up, their rebellion utterly crushed.
"Understood, Boss," they assured him quickly.
"We know what to do. We won't entertain any treacherous thoughts."
- - - - - - - - - - -
The Celestia - Deep Space
Inside the sleek Vibranium cockpit, Ernst hummed a quiet, cheerful tune.
The subjugation of the Ravagers was a flawless success.
He needed Stakar. He needed a spacer.
Ernst was playing a massive, galactic long game, and his biggest problem was currently sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Skull Island was reaching critical mass.
Over ten thousand resurrected mutants now lived in the Sanctuary.
They were safe, but they were entirely isolated. And immortality bred severe, dangerous boredom.
Managing thousands of apex predators was naturally troublesome. Unruly factions were forming.
Unwilling to wipe their memories and integrate them into fragile human society, the contradictions were becoming acute.
Ernst had realized the only viable solution was to expand upward.
Into the galaxy.
He was going to forge a mutant mercenary army.
He had already engineered tactical combat suits spliced with Mystique's shifting DNA, making his soldiers incredibly formidable.
He just needed a galactic guide to navigate the complex, lethal politics of the cosmos.
Stakar and his Ravagers had walked right into his hands.
Ernst left the cockpit and walked into Celestia's expansive, magically enlarged cargo bay.
He began extracting heavy machinery from his dimensional backpack.
He spent seven days fabricating a spatial shuttle, a machine capable of tearing stable wormholes through the void.
Flying back to Earth manually would waste precious months.
As he tightened the final runic coupling, the ship's proximity alarms chimed softly.
They had arrived at Morag.
Ernst walked to the viewport. His satisfaction evaporated instantly.
The entire planet was enveloped in a raging, violent storm of faint purple energy.
"Red Queen," Ernst frowned, staring at the swirling clouds.
"Analyze that energy signature."
"As ordered, Dr. Ernst," the AI replied, her voice overlapping with the ship's advanced sensors.
A holographic readout materialized in the air.
"It is a primordial energy matrix," the Red Queen reported.
"It is sparse, but terrifyingly pure."
"Even your hyper-dense physiology cannot absorb it efficiently. As you approach the surface, the concentration increases exponentially."
The AI paused.
"Ordinary biological matter will incinerate instantly. You would survive for exactly one hour before total cellular collapse."
Ernst scowled. The Power Stone was down there, waiting in its ancient vault.
"Can you penetrate the atmosphere with a deep scan? I need to find the exact coordinates."
"Negative," the Red Queen stated.
"The violent radiation is scrambling all telemetry. However, I am detecting a steady decay rate in the planetary shield."
"The energy field is dissipating. It will vanish completely in approximately thirty years."
Ernst let out a bitter, cynical chuckle.
No wonder Peter Quill would simply waltz in and grab the orb decades from now.
Someone had clearly found this planet before, but the raw power of the Infinity Stone had created a lethal, atmospheric barrier.
"Let it be," Ernst murmured, turning away from the glass.
"I could survive the dive, but risking my life for a blind search isn't worth it. I will collect it when the shield falls."
Ernst piloted the Celestia far away from Morag.
He located a dead, rocky moon and set the ship down in a deep, shadowed crater.
He placed the vessel's systems into sleath mode.
Back in the cargo bay, Ernst stood before his completed space shuttle ring.
He inspected the primary manifold. It required clusters of glowing blue crystals.
Tesseract fragments.
He loaded over a dozen shards into the grooved slots, sighing helplessly.
"I was overly optimistic," Ernst muttered to himself.
He had assumed a few shards would power a galactic jump.
Instead, breaching the cosmic veil over thousands of light-years consumed more than thirty crystals per transit.
He had fewer than three thousand left. He had to conserve them.
The Tesseract itself was still on Earth, locked deep inside an S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.
He could take it. But that meant engaging directly with Hydra's leadership.
Ernst despised them.
He technically controlled their entire advanced research division, but the relationship was highly toxic.
Ernst had ruthlessly poached Hydra's greatest scientific minds.
He had hoarded the black-tech and the Kryptonian xenotech for himself.
If the Hydra barons wanted his weapons, they had to pay extortionate, bleeding rates.
They hated Ernst. They wanted him dead. But they were absolutely terrified of his reality-warping power.
Ernst would bide his time.
When the Avengers Initiative began, and the Cube emerged, he would simply borrow it from Thor to extract more fuel.
He primed the space shuttle.
The crystals ignited. A blinding, localized blue wormhole tore open in the center of the cargo bay.
Ernst stepped through the event horizon.
Ernst stepped out into a sterile, white room.
The air smelled of ozone and cold antiseptic.
A matching spatial receiver ring sat in the center of the room, anchored by a single, glowing blue bead.
He was back on Earth. Deep beneath the Sanctuary Valley.
He had anchored the coordinate bead personally. It was a failsafe to prevent being torn apart by spatial turbulence.
Ernst extended his telepathic aura, sweeping the island.
The perimeter was secure. The mutant population was stable.
However, he sensed a massive, churning disturbance off the coast.
The Star Whale.
The behemoth was throwing a violent tantrum, whipping the ocean into a frenzy because Ernst had been gone so long.
Ernst closed his eyes, projecting a wave of soothing, psychic calm deep into the Mariana Trench until the beast settled.
He opened his eyes and tapped the intercom on the laboratory wall.
"Doctor," Ernst commanded.
"Assemble the entire population in the central plaza."
An hour later, Ernst stood on a high balcony overlooking ten thousand mutants.
They were a vast sea of reborn humanity, looking up at their creator.
Ernst projected his voice across the valley.
"I am opening the door to the cosmos," Ernst declared.
A murmur of excitement rippled through the massive crowd.
"Earth is small. The universe is infinite. I am building a fleet."
"I require volunteers to forge a path into the galaxy."
Ernst outlined the mercenary program.
"Those who enlist will receive the Mystique-class biological armor. You will be issued three vials of emergency cellular-regeneration serums for deep-space combat."
He looked down at the hungry, eager faces.
"You will earn contribution points for every successful campaign. These can be exchanged for the Elixir of Life, absolute magical protection, or permanent residence in the upper echelons of this sanctuary."
"You have seven days to decide," Ernst finalized.
"In one week, the first cosmic battalion deploys."
The plaza erupted into deafening, echoing cheers.
Ernst stepped back from the balcony.
He looked at the genius doctor.
"Manage the registration logs. Take only the strongest."
Without waiting for a reply, Ernst vanished with a sharp crack of displaced air.
Ernst materialized in the hallway of the farmhouse.
The smell of home-cooked food and the sound of children playing filled the air.
He had been dealing with alien warlords, dead gods, and mutant armies.
He needed to ground himself.
He walked into the living room, greeting Chris, Kyle, and young Clark with a warm, paternal smile.
He ruffled Clark's hair and answered Kyle's rapid-fire questions about the stars.
Then, he caught Tina's eye across the room.
The beautiful, magical powerhouse recognized the heavy, lingering tension in his shoulders.
Ernst didn't say a word.
He simply walked over, swept Tina off her feet, and carried her directly upstairs to the master bedroom.