"So, this is the current King of the Inhumans?" Hive sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Crushed and beaten to death? What a disappointment. Then again, his opponent is no weakling."
His gaze flickered toward Ragna, who stood unbothered amidst the destruction, the radiant solar flares reflecting in his cold, golden eyes. Hive stretched out his arms in mock invitation. "Well then, shall we? All of you, together."
Talos hesitated but knew there was no choice. He stepped forward, leading the elite Skrull warriors as they exited Attilan alongside Hive. Queen Medusa observed their departure with narrowed eyes, contemplating for a brief moment before making her decision. Leaving only a third-tier elder behind to oversee Attilan, she rallied the Inhuman elite and followed them to the moon's surface.
This was more than just a battle—it was a fight for the very survival of Black Bolt, the Inhuman race, and their future.
As they arrived on the far side of the moon, they were greeted by a scene straight out of an apocalyptic nightmare. What was once a dark, cratered wasteland now resembled a battlefield of fire and destruction. The intense energy from Ragna's solar bombardment had turned parts of the lunar surface into molten rivers of lava. The remaining thin atmosphere shimmered from the sheer heat, twisting the air itself.
Despite the inhospitable conditions, the Inhumans and Skrulls—warriors hardened by genetics and training—managed to endure.
Ragna, noticing their arrival, finally paused his relentless assault on Black Bolt. Stepping back slightly, he observed them with mild curiosity, his expression unreadable. Hive, however, was unimpressed.
Black Bolt, battered, burned, and barely standing, immediately regrouped with his forces. He spared Medusa and Talos a glance before his wary gaze settled on Hive. There was history between them—history filled with blood, betrayal, and exile.
Seeing Black Bolt's miserable state, Medusa clenched her fists before turning to Ragna. "Mighty deity," she said, choosing her words carefully. "The Inhumans hold no enmity against you. We are willing to hand over all the Skrulls in exchange for peace."
It was a ruthless move, one that sent a ripple of tension through the Skrulls. Talos narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
"Oh?" Ragna chuckled, tilting his head. "First, you demand war. Now, you beg for peace. Do you think the world revolves around your whims?" His gaze bore into Medusa, amusement flickering in his golden irises. "If you truly desire peace, it's quite simple—besides the Skrulls, Black Bolt's life is mine."
A murmur spread through the ranks of the Inhumans. Even some among them, particularly the noble families who had never fully supported the royal bloodline, exchanged glances.
Medusa paled. She was willing to betray the Skrulls for survival, but to sacrifice her husband? Her king?
Black Bolt's face, already scorched and blistered, remained unreadable.
Ragna sighed dramatically. "Come now, as a king, it's a noble thing to die for your people, isn't it? So be a hero, Black Bolt. Let's not make this more painful than it needs to be."
Hive stepped forward, his voice smooth yet laced with something ominous. "A king should sacrifice for his people, yes. But if a king is forced to sacrifice by those very people, then they are no longer worthy of his protection."
A hush fell over the Inhuman ranks. Medusa looked away, shame flickering in her eyes. Some noble Inhumans lowered their heads, their earlier willingness to entertain Ragna's offer now tainted with guilt.
Hive smirked. "Besides, the enemy stands before us, and you're still thinking of begging for mercy? How pathetic." His voice turned sharp, eyes gleaming with disdain. "Sacrificing your strongest warriors in the name of appeasement? That's not survival. That's surrender."
Ragna's amusement grew. "So… you'd rather gamble?" He studied Hive with newfound interest. "Betting the future of your entire race on an unknown outcome? What happens if you lose?"
Hive's gaze was unwavering. "Giving you Black Bolt and the Skrulls is already a gamble—one where we know the result." His voice dripped with confidence. "The future of the Inhumans is not determined by chance. It is decided by strength." He spread his arms wide. "If you want our future, then take it by force."
A piercing whistle echoed through the lunar landscape.
From the depths of the moon, shadows stirred. Figures, long forgotten and long asleep, began to rise.
The Hive's followers—those who had been infected and willingly devoted to him—had not perished when their king was exiled. Instead, they had placed themselves in a deep, unnatural stasis, waiting for the day their leader would return.
And now, sensing his presence, they emerged.
More than a dozen powerful Inhumans, each uniquely gifted, surged toward Hive. Their bodies bore the marks of their eternal sleep, but their eyes burned with an almost fanatical devotion.
Without hesitation, they knelt before their king.
The Skrulls and Inhumans looked on in stunned silence. None had anticipated this hidden force—loyalists who had slept for centuries, waiting for Hive's return.
Hive merely nodded, his expression unreadable. But in that moment, his aura seemed to expand, his presence growing even more oppressive.
A tense silence settled over the battlefield.
On one side, Black Bolt and his current Inhuman warriors. On the other, Hive and his undying followers. The Skrulls, their genetic experiments and abominations at the ready.
And at the center of it all—Ragna.
The self-proclaimed god yawned, utterly unbothered by the growing forces around him. He stretched lazily before looking at them with disinterest.
"…Is this all you've got?"
The words were like a spark to a powder keg.
Hive moved first. With a wave of his hand, his body released a swarm of parasitic spores, invisible to the naked eye but carrying a mental assault capable of corroding the strongest minds. The newly awakened Inhumans followed, attacking with reckless abandon—willing to sacrifice themselves if it meant harming Ragna.
Talos and Black Bolt exchanged a glance. For now, they had a common enemy. Without hesitation, both lunged into battle.
Black Bolt's voice—his greatest weapon—remained sealed behind his lips, but his movements spoke volumes. Talos, now in his monstrous Skrull form, led his warriors forward.
A storm of attacks erupted. Sonic waves, energy blasts, enhanced physical strikes—all aimed at Ragna from every direction.
Ragna exhaled, his golden aura flaring. The sun's divine power roared to life, incinerating Hive's spores before they could take effect. With a flick of his wrist, he severed the arm of a diamond-skinned Inhuman, reducing the limb to molten slag.
Black Bolt's vibrations cracked the ground. Talos's monstrous frame barreled forward, Skrull weapons locked and loaded. The hive-infected warriors struck with a fervor that bordered on suicidal.
It was a battle from all sides, an unrelenting assault meant to overwhelm even a god.
Ragna, at the eye of the storm, merely smiled.
His golden eyes gleamed with something both ancient and terrifying.
"Then," he whispered, raising a single hand, "let everything return to nothing."
A golden explosion of raw, celestial energy erupted outward—an unstoppable wave of destruction.
And the battlefield was engulfed in light.
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