Upon hearing that a spatial rift had appeared, Gamora's heart sank.
A familiar unease crawled up her spine, cold and insistent. She didn't need anyone to explain what that meant.
Her father.
They had to take the Soul Gem and leave—immediately. No debate. No detours.
With that thought, she urged them on, her voice sharpened by urgency. "Hurry. We're out of time. We get the Soul Gem first—who we give it to can wait. One disaster at a time."
Tanlia nodded at once, far too quickly for comfort. "Right, right. Soul Stone first." He tapped a few controls, fingers moving faster than usual. "My ship picked up life signals on the third planet in this system. I'll head over and take a look."
He felt uneasy too—the kind of gut feeling that made your palms sweat and your instincts scream. Standing around chatting sounded like a fantastic way to die, so he immediately ordered his crew to push the ship forward.
With both spacecraft—one large, one small—activating their space-slide engines, they crossed billions of kilometers in just over ten minutes, halting ten thousand kilometers from their target planet.
And then—
A space portal tore open near the desolate star.
From within emerged a massive, oppressive warship, its silhouette blotting out the starlight like a metal omen with anger issues.
Thanos's flagship.
The Titan-class battleship, Sanctuary II.
The instant Tanlia saw it, his soul very nearly left his body without filing the proper paperwork. He stiffened, then blurted out, "Ah… I just remembered. I think I left the gas on at home."
He coughed awkwardly and added, "How about you guys grab the Soul Gem for me? I'll double the reward. Triple, even. Think of it as… hazard pay."
Gamora snapped back instantly. "Didn't you say you weren't afraid of Thanos? Hey—where are you going?"
Before she could finish, the communication channel went dead.
She stared at the blank screen for a second, then rolled her eyes so hard they almost qualified as cardio.
Meanwhile, Tanlia had already ordered his crew to initiate an emergency space jump and flee the area.
A moment later, a subordinate reported, voice tight with panic, "Sir… the surrounding space is blocked. We'll need time to force the spatial passage open."
Tanlia's face drained of color. "Then force it faster!" he barked. "I don't care if the engine takes damage. Burn it if you have to!"
He was afraid of death—no, terrified of it.
Long ago, he and his wife had offended the god of death due to certain… unfortunate circumstances. The punishment was a curse: neither of them would ever enter the underworld.
At first, they'd been ecstatic. Immortality. Endless life. What could possibly go wrong?
A few million years later, his wife found the answer.
She could no longer endure the endless, monotonous existence. She chose to end her own life.
Tanlia didn't follow her.
Fear anchored him to the universe, condemning him to drift alone through eternity.
Three billion years had passed since then.
To avoid dying by accident, he relied heavily on his prophetic abilities, dodging disasters before they could ever reach him. Hiding, running, disappearing—he'd refined survival into an art form.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he had made the stupid decision to come here in person.
Now, faced with Thanos, his instincts screamed louder than they had in eons.
The crew pushed the space jump to its absolute limit—but before the spatial passage could fully open, a purple figure appeared directly in front of the ship.
A blade flashed.
The next instant, the thousand-meter-long spacecraft was sliced cleanly in two.
Light erupted. Then sound—violent, overwhelming, final.
Thanos gripped the Blade of Destruction, watching the ship detonate with cold, unblinking eyes. Still, he didn't relax.
He could feel it.
Someone inside hadn't died.
In the distance, the five members of the Guardians of the Galaxy tried to escape in their own ship—but for reasons they didn't yet understand, the controls failed completely. The engine sputtered, then died, as if the universe itself had casually pulled the plug.
As the smoke and debris dispersed, Tanlia's figure emerged.
His muscles bulged unnaturally, veins standing out as he glared at Thanos, fear and defiance knotted together on his face.
"Thanos," he said grimly, "how about we mind our own business? You go your way, I go mine. Let me leave, and we'll pretend this never happened."
The curse of the god of death granted him immortality—but it also froze his strength forever.
Three billion years or not, he remained stuck at sub–Father level, unable to grow any stronger. Otherwise, even a pig would've cultivated itself into a cosmic nightmare by now.
That gap in power was exactly why he was being so painfully honest.
Thanos shook his head, his voice icy and absolute. "No."
He continued calmly, "Once you involve yourself in the struggle for the Infinity Stones, you should already be prepared to pay the price."
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
Not in this universe.
You wanted to compete for the Infinity Stones. But the moment you realized you couldn't win, you suddenly hoped to walk away without a scratch. Life didn't work like that—especially not at this level.
Thanos seemed to grasp the thought almost instantly, as if he'd reached in and plucked it straight from Tanlia's mind.
If his guess was right, then the one pulling the strings was the God of Death herself, trying to use him as a blade to cut Tanlia down.
Why she hadn't simply done it personally, Thanos didn't know. But one thing was clear enough: her original plan had failed.
Tanlia wasn't suffering under an endless lifespan. On the contrary, he was thriving—comfortable, indulgent, very much alive. That alone was probably enough to irritate a being who embodied death itself.
Still, Tanlia had lived for three billion years. No one survived that long without hoarding secrets the way dragons hoarded gold.
That, more than anything else, was why Thanos hadn't acted yet. Dead men told no tales—and Thanos wanted answers.
When Thanos finally spoke, Tanlia's entire body tensed as if a switch had been flipped.
"Are you certain you want to fight to the death?" Tanlia asked grimly. "I may not be your equal, but I—"
He didn't get to finish.
A terrifying surge of power erupted from Thanos.
A deep, violent purple aura wrapped around his massive frame, pulsing like a living thing with a heartbeat of its own. Space itself seemed to buckle under the pressure, light twisting and warping as if it were desperately trying to escape.
Even the five members of the Guardians of the Galaxy—thousands of kilometers away—fell completely silent. No one dared breathe too loudly, as though sound itself might draw Thanos's attention.
Cold sweat beaded on Tanlia's forehead. His feet slid backward before he even realized he was retreating.
This power… it was far beyond anything he could handle.
Damn it. Wasn't Thanos only supposed to have recently reached the level of a Celestial? What kind of "recent" was this supposed to be?
Tanlia had lived for three billion years. He had mastered countless secret arts, forbidden techniques, and so-called ultimate moves.
And yet, in the face of absolute power, all of it felt laughably meaningless.
"You… you don't come any closer," Tanlia stammered, forcing himself to stop retreating. "What do you want in exchange for letting me go?"
A long life didn't guarantee strength—but it did tend to sharpen one's instincts.
Thanos hadn't attacked yet. That alone meant there was still a sliver of hope. Thin, fragile, but hope nonetheless.
After a moment, Thanos smiled faintly and retracted his destructive aura, as if it had never existed at all.
"I'm curious," he said calmly. "Why were you cursed by the God of Death?"
Tanlia's expression changed instantly. His face tightened, and a trace of genuine sorrow slipped through the cracks of his composure.
"Isn't there… any other question you could ask?" he said quietly.
That topic cut far too close to a power struggle among beings who could erase worlds on a whim. It wasn't something he dared to reveal lightly—if at all.
Surprisingly, Thanos didn't press him.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly. "I've heard that an Eternal once had a secret relationship with someone from the Celestial Clan. Is that true?"
Tanlia's face darkened further, as if a shadow had passed over it. His voice trembled despite his best efforts to steady it. "I'll answer your first question instead…"
Thanos chuckled softly. "It's fine. Answer whichever one you prefer."
As he spoke, he casually swung the Tyrant's Blade twice. The motion was lazy—almost bored—like someone idly checking whether a kitchen knife was still sharp.
Tanlia swallowed hard.
This… this was impossible.
Being threatened outright was one thing. Being politely offered a choice while staring directly at certain death was something else entirely.
This was really hard on him.
.....
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