The Weight of Immortality - CH - 86

The power of the Infinity Stone—now sealed within Harry’s dimensional pouch—radiated subtly beneath layers of containment spells and runes that even the most ancient of beings would struggle to unravel. But despite the quiet, tension rippled beneath the surface.

Inside the ship’s command chamber, Hela stood with arms folded, her eyes dark and distant as she stared at the swirling star map projected before them.

Harry approached from behind, sensing the storm brewing in her mind. “You’re thinking about him.”

Hela turned, her expression grave. “I’m thinking about what he’s after.”

She waved her hand and conjured a shimmering illusion—a golden gauntlet set with six radiant stones. The image spun slowly, casting glimmers of cosmic light across the chamber walls.

“The Infinity Gauntlet,” she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen it?”

Hela nodded. “Yes. In the vault beneath Asgard. The one Odin showed off to every ambassador, every curious noble who asked about the power of the gods. But that gauntlet?” She sneered. “It was a fake. A replica Odin commissioned to keep up appearances. He didn’t want anyone knowing the real gauntlet had been stolen—right under his nose.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “And you think… Thanos has it?”

Hela looked at him steadily. “I know he does. That gauntlet was forged by the Dwarves of Nidavellir, crafted using the fire of a dying star and the blood magic of the old pantheon. No mere tyrant could wield it. But Thanos… he’s no mere tyrant.”

She waved her fingers again, and the illusion changed—showing Thanos, clad in dark armor, lifting the completed gauntlet and sliding it onto his hand. With a snap of his fingers, half the stars flickered out of existence.

Harry said nothing for a moment, letting the vision settle.

“And with all six stones,” Hela continued, her voice low, “he wouldn’t need armies. Wouldn’t need war. He could wipe out half the life in the universe… with a snap.”

Harry’s voice was steady. “But he can’t do that yet.”

“No,” Hela admitted. “Because we have the Power Stone. And without even one stone, the gauntlet remains incomplete—and useless for what he wants.”

“But,” Harry added thoughtfully, “he’s done this before. Long before the stones.”

Hela nodded grimly. “Yes. With brute force. With armies. With fear.” Her voice darkened. “I’ve seen the aftermath on dead worlds. Whole cities burned down to ash. Populations culled like cattle. Thanos doesn’t need the stones to commit genocide. The gauntlet… is just a more elegant way of doing what he’s always done.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the stars swirl beyond the viewports.

Then Hela turned to Harry, a glimmer of memory sparking in her gaze. “But you know what else I remembered?”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“The vault. In the dark dimension.”

Realization dawned on Harry’s face.

“You mean the other Infinity Stones,” he said.

Hela nodded. “Exactly. The ones we collected long ago from other dimensions. Useless, I thought, at the time. Too volatile. Too unstable. I had no interest in harnessing power I already surpassed. But you…”

Harry’s eyes were shining now. “I forged them into weapons.”

“Legendary ones,” Hela agreed. “Swords that never dulled. Staves that bent reality. Arrows that could pierce through dimensions. You enchanted them all—using the fragments of those dimensional Infinity Stones.”

Harry stepped away from her, pacing thoughtfully. “They’re still in the Forge Vault… untouched for eons. Locked in stasis.”

“Why don’t we take them all?” she asked at last. “The other Stones. The weapons. The relics we buried in the dark dimension. We could use them. End this now.”

Harry straightened, his voice calm but resolute. “Because if we do, we risk making it worse.”

Hela narrowed her eyes. “Worse?”

Harry nodded. “Every time we pull a Stone out of its native reality, something breaks. I’ve seen it. Tethers unravel. Worlds fracture. And more than that…” He looked directly at her. “If we bring more Infinity Stones into this universe, we give Thanos more targets. More chances to complete the gauntlet.”

Hela folded her arms. “So we do nothing? Let him hunt?”

“No,” Harry replied. “We just don’t play his game. We don’t give him more to chase.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly let go of the weapon. “You’re right,” she muttered. “We’re strong enough without them. We don’t need his kind of power to stop him.”

But there was something else gnawing at Harry—something far more practical. He stepped over to the navigation chamber, where a map of the galaxy pulsed gently with priority sectors.

“Right now, Xandar is the last known location of the Power Stone. Whether Thanos knows we took it or not, he’ll assume the Nova Corps are hiding it.” He turned to her. “And if he thinks they are… he’ll tear that planet apart looking for it.”

Hela's expression darkened. “And if he hears I’m the one who took it, he may go after Asgard instead. Try to bribe me. Or blackmail me. Or threaten the people of Asgard.”

Harry nodded grimly. “Exactly. Neither Xandar nor Asgard deserves to take the hit for something we did.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of what Thanos might do loomed heavily over both of them. Civilizations had already burned under his doctrine. This time, they wouldn’t hide in the shadows.

“Then what’s your plan?” Hela asked.

“I want him to know the truth,” Harry said. “That it’s me who took the Stone. Me who’s protecting it. And if he wants it—he’ll have to come through me.”

Hela gave a wicked smile. “Now that… is a plan I can support.”


The lights of Contraxia shimmered like stained glass against the black veil of space. Neon clouds of steam danced around the rusted edges of the old spaceport, and within the lower levels of the Ravager-dominated quadrant, Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, Groot, and Drax found themselves uncharacteristically silent.

They stood in the shadow of an alleyway tavern, the same one where, only hours earlier, they'd encountered Harry and Hela—the strange, powerful pair who took the Power Stone from them without threats, violence, or bribes. That had almost made it worse.

Rocket scratched behind his ear with a grunt. “You know… I’m still mad we let ‘em take it.”

Gamora folded her arms. “Would you rather have had Thanos get it instead?”

“Wouldn’t have had to if we sold it faster,” Rocket muttered.

Peter Quill looked distant, flipping his communicator in his hand without much focus. “It’s not like they stole it. They asked. And they offered to pay.”

“But didn’t,” Rocket snapped.

“They had no units,” Groot chimed, nodding sagely.

Peter sighed. “It was the right call. You saw what happened when that girl—Carina—grabbed the Stone. Those two might be our only shot at keeping it out of the wrong hands.”

“But it still sucks,” Rocket growled.

Drax, who’d been leaning against a metal column, suddenly stood up straight. His face was unreadable.

“What now?” Peter asked.

Drax was silent for a moment, then said simply, “I sent a message.”

Peter blinked. “A message? To who?”

Drax turned toward them. “To Ronan. I told him where we are.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“WHAT?!” Rocket screeched, eyes wide.

“You... what!?” Gamora stepped forward, fury rising in her voice.

Drax's voice was calm. “Ronan killed my wife and daughter. I will have my vengeance.”

Peter looked like he might explode. “You told one of the most homicidal maniacs in the galaxy where we are—after we just got rid of the one thing he’s been looking for!?”

“I thought we had the Stone,” Drax said, confused. “He would come for it.”

“But we DON’T anymore!” Rocket shouted. “You just invited a warlord to a party we’re not even hosting!”

And then, as if summoned by prophecy, the sky above Contraxia split open with the roaring thunder of Necrocraft engines.

Dark, angular ships descended through the clouds like a swarm of metal locusts. Sirens wailed throughout the district, and the locals ran for shelter.

Peter cursed under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Above them, the fleet spread into a sharp formation—and from its center descended a massive ship, shaped like a jagged blade.

The Dark Aster.

Gamora’s face went pale. “That’s Ronan.”

And before they could move, Drax was gone—already marching toward the spaceport where Ronan’s forces had begun to deploy.

Peter, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot sprinted through the alleys toward their stolen mining pods, their only chance of escape. Behind them, shadows moved between the steel columns—Ronan’s soldiers deploying by the dozen.

Suddenly, a blast tore through the wall beside them, and stepping through the smoke, Nebula emerged, dual blades extended and eyes glowing with mechanical rage.

“Gamora,” she hissed, “you always were the disappointment.”

“Can we do this after we don’t die?” Peter yelled, pushing Gamora toward a pod.

“Go!” Gamora shouted. “I’ll hold her—”

But Nebula didn’t wait. She leapt forward, and the two sisters clashed in mid-air, sparks flying as blade met blade. Peter dove into one pod, Rocket into another, Groot climbing onto his shoulder.

They took off into the cold void of space, dodging fire from Necrocraft fighters.

Below, Drax charged straight at Ronan, who stood at the center of the docking platform like a fallen god. He was armored in black and silver, the hammer of Xandar’s fall gripped in one hand.

“I AM DRAX!” he bellowed. “And I will have justice!”

Ronan turned, expression unmoved. “You are nothing.”

Their battle was brief—and brutal.

Ronan easily overpowered Drax, catching his blade mid-swing and slamming him into the ground. Then again. Then again. When Drax tried to rise, Ronan hurled him into a tank filled with spinal fluid, where he floated limply, defeated but alive.

In orbit, the mining pods spun and weaved, dodging Nebula’s relentless pursuit. The woman was part machine, and her pod outmaneuvered the rest with ruthless precision.

Gamora’s pod took a direct hit—the glass shattered, alarms blared, and suddenly, she was ejected into open space, spinning helplessly.

Peter’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no, no—Gamora!”

Without hesitation, he slammed his pod to a halt, cracked the hatch, and jumped into the void, racing toward her with an emergency breathing mask in his hand.

She was unconscious when he reached her. He wrapped himself around her, forced the mask over her mouth, and activated his distress beacon.

“Come on, come on…” he whispered, freezing, his skin crystallizing with ice as his lungs burned.

The last thing he saw before blacking out… was the lights of a Ravager ship.

Inside the now-deserted tavern in Knowhere, Rocket slammed his fist against the table.

“This is your fault!” he shouted at Drax, who now sat bruised and silent. “Your STUPID message got us into this mess!”

Drax didn’t answer.

Groot looked between them with worry, his branches curling inward.

“We should leave,” Rocket growled. “Find a new crew. Find a new planet!”

But then his voice cracked. “But... they’re our friends.”

Groot gently patted his head.

Drax looked up at last. “I endangered them. I must make it right.”

Rocket paced, then stopped. “You’re both idiots. But you’re my idiots.”

He looked up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Let’s go get them.”

Groot smiled.

“I am Groot.”


The Revenger ship—a patchwork freighter of rusted panels, glowing turbines, and painted flames—hummed through open space like a drunk dragon with fire in its gut.

Inside, the atmosphere was anything but cordial.

Peter Quill and Gamora stood in the middle of the central hold, surrounded by a dozen sneering Ravagers, most of them pointing weapons—some charged, some already humming with energy. The air was thick with tension and the scent of engine oil.

At the back, reclining on his command chair, Yondu Udonta spun his whistle-controlled Yaka arrow between his fingers.

“Well, well, well…” Yondu said, voice low and dangerous. “Look what the krutak dragged in.”

Peter smiled sheepishly. “Hey, Yondu. Looking good. Love the new jacket.”

“Don’t try to charm me, boy,” Yondu snarled. “You double-crossed me. Took the orb right from under me, and now—NOW—you come back without it?” His eyes were bloodshot with rage.

Gamora stood her ground. “We didn’t sell the orb. We gave it away.”

That earned a wave of laughter from the Ravagers.

“Gave it away?” Kraglin repeated, blinking like he'd misheard. “You gave away the most valuable artifact in the quadrant?”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “Yeah… for protection.”

The laughter stopped.

One of the Ravagers—an enormous, scar-faced woman—snorted. “Ain’t no one gives nothin’ for free in this galaxy.”

Yondu leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You got a death wish, boy? Or did that green lady knock the sense outta you?”

Peter looked serious now. “I didn’t give it to just anyone. I gave it to my new friends. Friends who can actually protect it.”

Yondu sneered. “And who’s that, huh? Nova Corps again? Bunch of puffed-up glowsticks?”

Peter hesitated… then said calmly, “No. I gave it to Harry and Hela.”

The silence that followed was instant. Utter. Not a Ravager made a sound.

One of them nearly dropped his blaster.

Kraglin blinked rapidly. “Did… did he say Harry and Hela?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. You know them?”

A ripple of discomfort passed through the crew. Several of them exchanged glances. Yondu’s jaw tensed.

“I remember them…” Yondu muttered.

Gamora looked between them, confused. “Why do you all look like you just saw a ghost?”

Yondu stood slowly. “Because we did.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did something happen?”

Yondu glared at him. “You ever wake up in your own ship with a tail and a snout, Quill?”

Peter blinked. “Um… can’t say I have.”

“We did. All of us.” Yondu pointed around the room. “Every last Ravager here got turned into pigs. Squealin’, wallowin’ pigs. On our own krutakin’ ship. For an hour.”

Gamora’s eyes widened. “What?”

Kraglin raised a hand. “I still have nightmares, man.”

Yondu jabbed a finger toward Peter. “Your ‘friends’ did that. That lady with the necrosword and the wizard with the smug face.”

Peter chuckled nervously. “Okay, yeah, that… that sounds like them.”

“They could’ve turned us inside out,” Yondu grumbled, flopping back into his chair. “But instead they threw us out of their ship like trash. That was a message, boy.”

Gamora crossed her arms. “Then it’s a good thing we’re on their side.”

The Ravagers murmured uncertainly.

Yondu studied Peter, eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight. You and your new girl here… are pals with the two most dangerous beings I ever had the misfortune of pissing off?”

Peter nodded. “Pretty much.”

Yondu leaned back, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Well, krut. I was gonna space ya.”

“Appreciate the restraint,” Peter said dryly.

“But if they’re watchin’ you…” Yondu scratched his head, “then I ain’t gonna be the one that messes with ‘em. We got enough enemies as it is.”

Kraglin nodded quickly. “Let’s not poke the death-gods again.”

Yondu gave a sharp whistle and the arrow dropped into its holster. He pointed a lazy finger at Peter. “You owe me. You owe me big. And when the time comes, you’re gonna pay up.”

Peter gave a short nod. “Fair enough.”

“Now,” Yondu said, turning toward the bridge, “get your sorry asses cleaned up. We got business to track, and I ain’t lettin’ no wizard or sword-queen scare me outta the quadrant. But if I see either of them again?” He gave Peter a long stare. “You better be standin’ next to ‘em. Or I might forget my good manners.”