Chapter 28: When Titans Take Interest

Chapter 28: When Titans Take Interest

The air in the bridge grew heavy.

It wasn't fear. Not yet. But it was a tension that settled into the bones of everyone who understood what was coming. The officers who had spent years surviving in the Black Market, dealing with warlords, smuggling empires, and mercenary fleets, all knew the difference between ordinary enemies and them.

Even Rylos the Butcher, who had watched Baldur rip through armies without blinking, clenched his jaw slightly.

Baldur noticed.

He wasn't surprised.

Because he already knew who was coming.

The Black Market had been a neutral ground for centuries. It was lawless, but it functioned because it had rules. Not laws. Rules. The kind that were understood by those who had lived long enough to know why they existed.

One of those rules?

You didn't get involved in Thanos' business.

And Baldur had just burned that rule to the ground.

He exhaled, golden light flickering faintly around his form as he turned to the ship's comms system.

"Put the visuals up," he said.

The nearest officer hesitated, then obeyed, pressing a few commands. The static-riddled screen above the bridge flickered to life, showing the vast emptiness of space beyond the ruined Leviathan warship.

And then the ships appeared.

Not a fleet.

Not even a full strike force.

Just three.

That was all they needed.

The first was a Necro-Cruiser, its dark, jagged form barely visible against the void, moving with unnatural silence. A ship like that wasn't built for combat. It was built for eradication.

The second was a Kree war vessel, not officially connected to the Empire but unmistakable in its design—one of the hidden factions that still took contracts from "the Mad Titan" when necessary.

And the third?

A single dark-red dropship, sleek, predatory, unmarked. A personal transport, not military.

That meant one thing.

Whoever was inside it wasn't here as a soldier.

They were here as an executioner.

Baldur tilted his head slightly, a small grin forming. "Guess I really pissed someone off."

The captain of the Leviathan warship, still slumped against the ruined console, let out a dry laugh. "You have no idea."

Baldur didn't move. He watched as the three ships maneuvered into position, slowly surrounding the station below. No words were exchanged. No orders were shouted over open comms.

They didn't need to.

Because when Thanos sent someone, they didn't come to negotiate.

They came to remove problems.

The dropship descended first, lowering toward the shattered Black Market outpost below. Its hull hummed faintly with an energy field, disrupting the air around it, vibrating at a frequency Baldur couldn't quite place.

Baldur's gaze sharpened. He recognized that effect.

Not standard shielding. Not Kree tech.

Something worse.

He flexed his fingers, golden light bending subtly around them. "Looks like I'm about to meet someone interesting."

The moment the dropship touched the ground, its ramp lowered, releasing a hiss of depressurized air. The figures that emerged moved with silent precision, stepping into the ruined marketplace like clockwork automata.

The first were Thanos' Executors. Not soldiers. Not assassins.

They were enforcers of silence.

Each was clad in dark plating, their movements deliberate, synchronized without the need for words. They weren't cybernetic or genetically enhanced like most elite warriors. Instead, they moved with an eerie, mechanical precision, as if their very bodies were perfectly calibrated machines of war.

But it was the last figure that caught Baldur's attention.

A warrior clad in dark crimson armor, standing taller than the others, his movements smooth yet oddly deliberate, like he was adjusting the weight of every step.

Baldur immediately noticed something off.

It wasn't the way he carried himself. It wasn't even the way the others deferred to him.

It was the way the air around him felt heavier.

Like gravity itself was responding to him.

The bridge fell silent. The officers barely breathed.

Even Rylos watched with unreadable eyes.

The figure raised his hand, and the Executors stopped behind him. He looked up, directly toward the wrecked Leviathan, his gaze locking onto Baldur's through the screen.

Then he spoke.

"Come down," the warrior said, his voice deep and calm. "Or we'll bring you down."

Baldur chuckled, the golden glow around his body flaring slightly.

He had been waiting for something like this.

"Alright then," he muttered. "Let's see what you've got."

He vanished in a flash of light, descending toward the battlefield.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt it.

Something was wrong.

The air around him was denser, thicker, heavier.

Not like an energy field. Not like a shield.

Like the planet had just doubled its gravity.

Baldur narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oh, that's cute."

The warrior tilted his head, as if studying him. "You are fast. But speed is nothing when the world itself slows you down."

Baldur grinned. "I can work with that."

The warrior didn't hesitate. He lifted his hand slightly—and suddenly, Baldur felt his own weight increase.

Not a crushing force, not something unbearable, but just enough to throw off movement, just enough to make rapid acceleration feel sluggish.

Baldur burst into photons, reappearing a few feet away. But the warrior didn't react—because he didn't need to.

The moment Baldur reformed, the gravity shifted again, pulling him slightly off balance.

The warrior moved—not fast, but precise, efficient, like someone who had full control over the battlefield itself.

A single punch cut through the air, its weight unnatural.

Baldur barely adjusted in time, phasing into light to avoid the strike. But even then—he felt the pull.

He was fighting the planet itself.

Baldur exhaled, golden energy flickering brighter around him.

"Okay," he muttered. "This might actually be interesting."

The warrior's expression remained unreadable. "I am Callaxes. And you are going to kneel."

Baldur smirked.

"Try me."

The fight began.