Hanging in the blackness of space, the Dark Aster looked like a cross between a battle cruiser and a fortress. Wherever the warship appeared, it brought fear. Whole planets had been evacuated based only on rumors the Dark Aster was approaching.

It wasn’t so feared because it was one of the most heavily armed warships ever created—which it was—but because it was the flagship of none other than Ronan. Some knew him as “Ronan the Murderer”; others as “Ronan the Butcher”; and still others as “Ronan the Warlord.” All these names were meant to slur Ronan for his cruelty and heartlessness—but they pleased him, and there was one name he preferred above all the others: “Ronan the Accuser.” Ronan looked upon the people of this galaxy and accused them of the greatest crime he could imagine—weakness.

Ronan was a member of a species of aliens that had once dominated huge sections of the galaxy. He was tall and incredibly strong and dwarfed those around him. He was the perfect specimen, strong in body and in mind.

Inside the warship, as Ronan rose from a giant pod full of oozing black fluid, one of his minions dragged in a prisoner. It was a captive officer of the Nova Corps, the law enforcement agency that policed the sector.

Ronan hated the Nova Corps because they stood in the way of his goal for total intergalactic conquest. And the Novas protected the weak, something that Ronan found disgusting.

The Nova officer, although clearly under Ronan’s total power, looked up defiantly at the warlord looming over him.

“You’re under arrest,” croaked the battered officer bravely as he looked into Ronan’s eyes, “for violations of sovereign space, unlawful seizure… and genocide.”

Ronan smiled at the officer’s nerve.

“You’re in my court now,” Ronan said to the officer. “I make the accusations here. The Nova Corps’s pathetic protection of the weak at the expense of the strong has denigrated this galaxy and brought shame to any creature strong enough to call themselves a warrior.”

Ronan brought his face close to the man. “Compassion is a disease,” he finished.

“You will never rule the galaxy,” shouted the officer, trying to cover his fear with boldness.

“Rule it? No,” Ronan admitted as he raised his mallet-shaped Cosmi-Rod, a blunt weapon. “I will cure it!”

With a swing of his rod, Ronan silenced the officer.

As Ronan cleaned his weapon, another of his underlings entered.

“Korath has returned, my master,” said the servant, “but he doesn’t have the Orb.”

Ronan frowned.

Ronan sat in the Dark Aster’s magnificent throne room and listened as Korath reported his failure to obtain the Orb from a petty thief.

“He is an outlaw,” Korath explained. “He calls himself Star-Lord.”

“Star-Lord?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Merely his own vain delusion,” Korath said dismissively. “We have discovered he has an agreement to retrieve the Orb for an intermediary known as the Broker. I am unspeakably pleased to report that we will be able to intercept him at the Broker’s shop on the planet Xandar.”

Ronan looked down from his throne at Korath for what seemed like an eternity before asking, “You know the Orb is essential for our holy mission, yes, Korath?”

“Yes.” Korath nodded humbly.

“And yet, you failed,” stated Ronan.

“Yes, my lord, but…” Korath tried to explain.

“Take him to the ship’s hold,” Ronan commanded with a wave of the hand.

“No, master, please! No! Spare me!” Korath shouted as several of Ronan’s soldiers removed him from their ruler’s sight.

Ronan turned to look at his most trusted servants, Nebula and Gamora, two highly trained and ruthless warriors from different alien worlds.

“Korath’s failure is unacceptable,” said Ronan. “Until we have the Orb we cannot move in force against the Nova Corps.”

He looked at the two women, as if making a decision. “Nebula, go to Xandar and dispense with this ‘Star-Lord.’ Get me that Orb,” Ronan commanded.

“It will be my honor,” said Nebula, bowing.

“It will be your doom,” interrupted Gamora.

Nebula looked at Gamora with a rage-filled glance. “I am more than capable of this mission!”

“Korath was more than capable, but this thief outmatched him,” Gamora said. “Why would it be any different for you?”

Ronan watched with interest as the women argued.

“And who would go instead of me? You?” Nebula asked.

“You are merciless and strong, Nebula,” Gamora said. “But I’ve been to Xandar many times and know it well. If the field of engagement shifts, I’ll be prepared.”

Nebula retorted, “Ronan has already decreed that—”

“Don’t speak for me,” Ronan said, interrupting Nebula. He turned to look at Gamora, appraising her. “You will not fail?” he asked.

Gamora shrugged. “Have I ever?”

As Gamora loaded up her Necrocraft for the voyage to Xandar, Nebula shoved her into a nearby wall, pinning her.

“You think I don’t know?” Nebula hissed into Gamora’s face. “You think I don’t realize that you would keep me from advancing? You would have Ronan tell our father, Thanos, that only Gamora furthers his great plan.”

Thanos, an evil dictator, was the only person Ronan served. He had kidnapped both Nebula and Gamora when they were still babies and raised them to serve him as elite soldiers. As such, they were known around the galaxy as the “daughters” of Thanos.

Gamora shoved Nebula off her. “I would keep you alive, sister,” Gamora replied.

Nebula sneered, “Compassion, Gamora? What would Ronan say to that?”

“You have known me since Thanos took us both from our homes,” began Gamora. “You have stood beside me in training, in modification, in battle.…”

“I have stood behind you,” shouted Nebula, her jealousy pouring out of her, “even though I am every inch the warrior you are. The screams of my enemies fill every field.”

“Because you take so long to finish them,” Gamora replied.

A wicked smile came to Nebula’s lips. “It is not wrong to love your work.”

“It is worse than wrong,” Gamora said as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder. “It is weak.”

Nebula stared angrily at Gamora as she walked away. Nebula fumed and began to make plans.

In the command chair on board the Necrocraft that would fly her to Xandar, Gamora entered orders into the computer console. The two Sakaaran troops that were to assist her on the mission approached.

“Course set for Xandar, my lady,” reported one of the Sakaarans.

“And, might I add,” he went on nervously, “it’s an honor to be serving with Ronan’s ‘right hand’ herself. My brother and I look forward to triumph,” he finished, nodding to the other Sakaaran.

“Yes”—Gamora nodded—“but it’s a shame about the casualties we’re going to incur.”

The Sakaarans looked at her with confusion. But before they could even ask a question, Gamora whipped her sword from her side and slashed them.

The Necrocraft slipped out of dock with Gamora as the only living passenger. Looking out the cockpit window, she contemplated the risks she was taking as she cleaned her blade. It would not be easy to betray Ronan.