When Corvus Glaive heard Mr. Fantastic's words, he let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"If I remember correctly," he said, tilting his head slightly, "your ancestors slaughtered other races and then multiplied on this land, didn't they?"
The words landed like a blade sliding across a table—calm, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
The man on the left stiffened.
He knew. They all knew.
History wasn't some abstract theory—it was written in blood. And now that same history was being turned back on them, sharp and inconvenient.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
There was nothing to refute.
When genocide was something your ancestors committed, it was called expansion. When it threatened you, it suddenly became evil.
After a brief silence, the Invisible Woman stepped forward. Her posture straightened, her chin lifted. Righteousness slid onto her face like carefully applied makeup.
"That was in an uncivilized era," she said firmly. "We're civilized now. We understand what was done was wrong. We cannot continue such slaughter."
Loki, who had been leaning lazily against a pillar and idly spinning his ice staff between his fingers, snorted.
"Since you know it was wrong," he said lightly, "why not return the land to its rightful owners?"
He gave them an almost innocent look.
"If I recall correctly, there are still survivors. Fewer each year."
The room fell uncomfortably quiet.
After the war, Loki had been meant to return to the frost giants with Laufey. But Jotunheim was endless snow, howling wind, and absolutely no entertainment. No music. No wine. No dramatic court intrigue. A tragic waste of Loki's talents.
The moment he heard Thanos would rule Earth, he volunteered.
Having grown up in Asgard, he was not about to spend eternity in what he privately called "an ice cube with bad lighting."
Laufey had given him a long lecture—about responsibility, about identity—but in the end, even a frost giant king understood that locking up his son would only breed resentment. So Loki came.
Now, his words left the Blue Star delegation visibly unsettled.
They preached humanity. They spoke of freedom.
And yet, behind polished speeches and carefully edited textbooks, policies of quiet extermination had continued for centuries.
Publicly, they claimed invitation.
They even created Thanksgiving—to thank the indigenous people for their "assistance."
Whether others believed that story didn't matter.
Americans certainly did.
Seeing the discussion slipping away from him, Mr. Fantastic cleared his throat.
"It's not that Earth's people reject my lord's rule," he said carefully. "Only a small portion have grown accustomed to… freedom. They can be persuaded."
Free America. Gunfire every day.
A slogan, almost.
If they treated their own leaders like that, how would they treat alien rulers?
It was no surprise that the United States had become the epicenter of resistance.
If extermination were truly carried out, that region might very well cease to exist.
Proxima Midnight's expression darkened.
"No need for persuasion," she said coldly. "My lord entrusted me with this task. I will not keep him waiting. Anyone who has not submitted by tomorrow will be wiped out."
Corvus Glaive nodded immediately.
"How can we delay the will of the master? If rebels remain tomorrow, I will personally lead the Dark Order to execute the extermination plan."
The Blue Star representatives wanted to protest—but the moment Corvus Glaive lifted his weapon, his pale face twisting with a killing intent that felt almost tangible, their courage evaporated.
Silence swallowed the room.
Then—
Nebula stood.
She had remained quiet until now, but at this moment she stepped forward.
"General Corvus Glaive," she said evenly, "Father must have had deeper intentions in allowing Mr. Fantastic to remain. There's no need to rush."
Her combat suit fit her sleek frame perfectly, metallic lines catching the light. Yet her expression was unexpectedly soft.
Since her sister's death, something inside her had shifted.
Grief had carved space where rage once lived.
For the first time, she had begun to question.
Endless killing only breeds endless hatred. It might win obedience—but never loyalty. And hatred has a long memory.
So when she heard talk of extermination, she couldn't remain silent.
Corvus Glaive hesitated.
She was not the strongest among them. In battle, she played only a minor role.
But she was the master's daughter.
That alone was enough.
If he dared not argue with her, Proxima Midnight certainly wouldn't. Loki merely watched with faint amusement, offering no opinion.
The Blue Star representatives looked at Nebula with barely concealed gratitude.
Saved.
They thought they were saved.
Then—
A deep, steady voice echoed through the chamber.
"The affairs of Blue Star will be left to Proxima Midnight."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly.
Thanos had spoken.
The moment that voice echoed through the command chamber, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Loki, Corvus Glaive, and Proxima Midnight rose to their feet almost instinctively—then immediately dropped to one knee.
"Welcome, my lord."
For Corvus and Proxima, that reaction was expected.
But Loki kneeling without hesitation?
That was… interesting.
Thanos glanced at him briefly. It seemed that after Laufey's guidance, the former trickster prince had learned something about survival—and about respect.
On the human side, the meaning of the gesture was obvious.
This was the true master.
One by one, the representatives of Earth dropped to one knee as well. Some did it stiffly, others trembling, but none dared remain standing.
Only Nebula stayed upright.
When she noticed Wanda Maximoff at Thanos's side, something flickered in her eyes—sharp, jealous.
She stepped forward lightly, voice softening in a way that didn't quite match her usual edge.
"Father," she said, almost sweetly, "what brings you here?"
As she spoke, she shot Wanda a subtle, provocative glance.
Wanda, completely missing the subtext, simply returned a polite smile. No hostility. No competition. Just… courtesy.
That only made it worse.
Thanos reached out and patted Nebula's head once.
"I came with a task for you," he said evenly. "Why has Earth not yet been fully subdued?"
There was still feeling in that gesture.
Decades of father-daughter history were not erased so easily—not even in a heart like his.
Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight immediately lowered their heads further.
"We are at fault, sir," Proxima said. "We will commence extermination at once."
Before anything more could be said, one of the human representatives—a white-haired American official in a tailored suit—lost his nerve.
"Sir," he began hastily, "some of our people simply haven't understood the situation yet. We—"
He never finished.
Thanos's expression darkened.
With a casual flick of his hand, a wave of destructive force swept forward.
The energy struck the official mid-sentence.
Thanos spoke coldly, almost mildly, "Did I grant you permission to speak? Do you lack even basic manners?"
Interrupting him was intolerable.
Especially from someone so insignificant.
In the next second, the official's body disintegrated into fine dust, scattering soundlessly onto the polished metal floor.
The room went deathly quiet.
Several Earth representatives broke into cold sweat immediately, heads dropping so low their chins nearly touched their chests.
Whatever faint hope they had harbored about "interstellar diplomacy" evaporated.
The universe, it seemed, was brutally consistent.
Just as humanity had once crushed weaker civilizations on its own planet, so too did a stronger force now stand over them.
The defeated did not negotiate.
They endured.
A few of them glanced sideways at Mr. Fantastic.
In their eyes, Reed had "chosen cooperation." Surely that meant he held some influence now?
Surely he could say something?
Reed did not move.
He kept his head lowered, jaw tight.
He did not look up.
He did not speak.
And for the first time, the people behind him began to understand—
Rubber bends.
But it does not shield against a falling blade.
.....
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