Drax--The One Who Challenges Death
Drax was not there when Hovat and Kameria were killed. He had been at the market, the latest crop of kraco had been plentiful and there was much to sell that week. But upon returning with a reasonable profit he saw the bodies. The bodies of Ronan's goons, butchered and bleeding scattered the long winding dirt road to his home. He saw the uprooted crops now, all of them. Not a plant left in sight but for upturned soil. Only then did he see Hovat, who lay face down, Kameria under her. Both of them as broken and as bloody as the soldiers Hovat had killed. There has simply been too many of them. Since that day Drax became the destroyer. He who challenges death itself for what it took from him. He set off on his shattered road across the galaxy to obliterate anyone who got in his way to vengeance. Over the course of his quest, he began to realize that he could challenge death. Or rather, he challenged others to die. Every slice, every cut, every rage induced rampage he would see how long it would take for his adversary to expire. Sometimes it was rather quick when he did not care, other times it was long, drawn out and he would understand in their final moments what was precious to them. Who or what had been their family? What kept them going? Only after learning this would he kill them. Drax the Destroyer raged against death.
“I will take more victims than death itself,” he whispered as he scarred himself with another tattoo. To the day, Drax had killed over 700 aliens, humans and other beings in the galaxy. Drax the Destroyer also challenged death by refusing to die himself. Not until Ronan and those responsible for the death of his family were killed. Every wound he suffered, every battle or fight he lost, (which were not many), he would lie there in the alley, or the field and stare into the sky.
“Kameria, Hovat, Kameria, Hovat, I will see you soon, but not this time.” He slowly repeats the mantra to himself until he was able to rise. Drax had only once come truly close to death himself. The first time was when he had purposefully called Ronan to Nowhere, only to be saved by the strange tree. The second was more recently when he was trying to save Mantis and the soil of the planet Ego had engulfed him, trapping him as he desperately hoisted the Empath upward to spare her. Death took neither of them that time and that night Drax had sharpened his knives with a satisfied smile he rarely wore. Despite his inability to understand metaphors, the Destroyer understands how death works completely, and how fighting against it is, as some would say, pointless. But not him. When he commenced his soul union with Hovat he vowed to protect her and when she and Kameria were killed he had failed in that vow. Now he lives by a new vow: that death is a thing to be toyed with, a thing to combat against. He will die only when he has completed his revenge. There is nothing more satisfying to Drax then him claiming the death of someone himself, usurping that final end for his own gain. That was his revenge. When he sharpens his knives when he kills and fights it is a sacred act. He does it all in name of his family and that which he has lost. His scars and tattoos showcase every attempt that death has made to thwart him and every time he has triumphed despite of it. Drax knows that one day he will face those responsible for murdering his family, ravaging his farm. Those responsible for turning him into a maniac, he will challenge them too. He will not leave this galaxy until he has learned what is most precious to Ronan and Thanos, even if it only power. He will take that from them. He, not death, will take their lives and their legacy.
Gamora-The One Who Does Not Fear Death
Thanos killed her family, destroyed her planet and kidnapped her. She tries to shake the images of her parents from her head but they are always there, staring at her from the shadowy corners of her memory. Even Thanos could not get rid of those memories though he tried. Stars, did he try. Gamora has been called many things: the most dangerous woman in the galaxy, assassin, whore, daughter of Thanos, and mistress of the-insert local evil demon belief here. Though she has forsaken Thanos and is determined to rid the galaxy of his treachery, being raised by him as still left its imprint. She does not fear death. One can become desensitized to even the most feared and unknowable things. Being repeatedly told to kill, being modified as a living weapon has done this to her. She does not fear death because for so many across the galaxy she is death. Gamora stopped keeping track of the number of victims she has killed after it surpassed 1,000. The blood on her hands is something she carries with indifference.
“I am not a daughter of Thanos,” she repeats to Quill as the two of them sit on her bed. He nods knowingly and for once he doesn’t make any quippy remarks. She is grateful and smiles sadly. Gamora has faced much worse than a sarcastic, daring human. She has come up against some of the worst, most feared things in the galaxy but none are worse than Thanos. Nebula is a close second because while Gamora does not fear death, she does fear the repercussion of her actions. Even if those actions were forced upon her. She has been able to succeed because she does not fear death. Eliminate this dread, and Gamora realized that you could open doors to things you never believed possible. Things you never wanted to believe were possible. She herself had destroyed entire planets, murdered families and had faced the anger of those who survive. In the Kyln she was held at knife point by none other than Drax the Destroyer. Just because she no longer feared death does not mean she doesn’t fear those who could bring it about. It was a sobering reminder and yet she was grateful for it. Fear reminded her that somewhere deep down she was still a being with feeling. Gamora had wrought death upon many, she watched as Thanos and Ronan’s men cut down women, children, and men without mercy and little reason. She did not fear death because she had been desensitized and she knew that she would be judged for her actions if there was anything or anyone who judged the souls of the dead. Either way, she knew she’d be punished for her actions and that she deserved it. If the souls of the dead were not judged, then even better. Gamora killed and fought passionately for that which she believed in, a welcomed change from her time with Thanos. Death would come for her one day she supposed, and when it did she would handle it.
“My mother wasn’t afraid either,” Peter had said once. Gamora nodded.
“She was a strong woman,” she would have genuinely liked to meet Meredith Quill. Maybe one day she would. Not fearing death allowed Gamora to focus on other things, it was liberating but not in the way most would assume. All her life she’d been trapped and made to do things against her will out of fear and now she was more or less free. Gamora, the most dangerous woman in the galaxy did not fear death, she accepted what it was and moved on with practiced ease and determination. There were more important things and those who spent their lives groveling in fear were missing out. She understood them, for she did not always accept death. But now she had everything she could want, a family and maybe, just maybe, a sister.
Peter--The One Who Thinks He is Immortal
As a child he watched his mother die, as an adult, he was forced to destroy his own father and, in the same day, watch his papa die. Death had taken the two most precious people in the world from him and that was exactly why Peter Quill believed he was immortal. How many stupid things had he done in his lifetime that should’ve killed him? The answer: too many. He’d picked fights with both bullies and brutes, he’d stolen from powerful enemies, pissed off entire planets and yet none of these things ever endangered his life. At least, not too much of it. Peter sailed around the galaxy thinking he was impervious to eternity. That was why he had saved Gamora. He’d figured a way around the inevitability of asphyxiation in the vacuum of space just like how he’d figured his way out of getting eaten by the ravagers throughout his childhood. What others believed was recklessness, Peter saw as optimism and wit. He’d put his head on the line many times and each time he’d escaped more or less intact. He tried not to take it for granted of course, but with the tunes blaring and that bliss of freedom and joy he couldn’t help it. When he listened to music, the reality of consequence seemed to fade away, replaced by the endless possibility. Being able to navigate the stars with ease and a happy go lucky attitude was what had gotten him through this far, and he was not going to let a little thing like mortality get in the way. The last thing Star-Lord needed was that kind of dark cloud to rain on his parade. Sure he grieved his mother and Yondu but he did not waste his time worrying about what would happen to him on a given mission. People around him told him he was foolish, but Peter knew himself better than anyone else. In the times he had come close to kicking it, he found a way out, or rather someone had his back.
The real reason Peter Quill believed he was immortal was because songs, music, were immortal. The essence of his soul was the music he listened to and there was a kind of immortality in that. Peter believed that more than anything else. Whatever happened to him, he’d be alright. He had his music, his new-found family, his ship and the memories of Yondu and his mother to carry him through. Say anything of Peter Quill, say he is assured in his values, even if they are morally ambiguous. Whether it was Hooked on a Feeling, or Spirit in the Sky, Peter Quill was content to let his life be as free flowing as the melody, as unbound and exciting.
“One of these days you are going to bit off more than you can chew,” some pissed off adversary had said to him. Peter’s response was only to shrug,
“Then I hope it tastes good.” That was the approach he took to almost everything in life. He may not enjoy it, but he tried to make the best of it. Life in general was no different. He’d been saved by too many to live a life of careful contemplation and caution. If he was going to live he was going to do it loudly, bombastic and not waste his time. If his heroes had taught him anything it was you had to seize each day, and as he said to the rest of the guardians:
“Usually life takes more than it gives, but today it’s giving a chance to do something.” Peter Quill took what life could give him at that given moment and savored it because he didn’t know the next time it was going to take something away. He took everything, the good and the bad and tried to do it in stride, though it was hardly ever easy. But immortality wasn’t easy either he supposed, so he charged head first and made rash decisions, letting the music carry him all the way.
Rocket--The One Who Seeks Death
The only thing Rocket hated more than sleep, was nightmares, the only thing he hated more than nightmares were the things that caused them. Memories of his time locked up on Halfworld in an illegal genetic and cybernetic experimentation laboratory. The one thing he hates above all else, even Star-Dork’s Awesome Mix Vol 2 on repeat for 48 hours, is himself. There was a long span of time in which Rocket thought he died every single day. When the scientists tortured him, cut him open, restructured him, injected unknown things into him. He fought as hard as he could for as long as he could but eventually, he was simply too tired. He wanted it to end. He had never known freedom or anything resembling it so what did he have to miss or hold on to? Rocket knew that this was long gone now. He had Groot, he had the guardians who respected him, at least more than anyone else did and he had an actual purpose. But still, Rocket seeks death. He does not actively want to take his own life, quite the contrary there were multiple instances in which he had sacrificed the lives of others to save his own skin, but it is subtler than that. He seeks death by putting himself in situations that would kill any other 4”0 creature, even one as many cybernetic enhancements as himself. He did these things to prove that he was in fact, free.
There were other times too, times like that bar on Nowhere when he had first met Gamora, Star-Munch and Drax, when had had too much to drink, when Drax had called him a rodent in front of the entire establishment, when Ego had called him a triangle faced monkey. That was all he ever was, a thing to be made fun of and stared at, a little monster.
“Ain’t no thing like me, ‘cept me.” He had said when Peter called him a raccoon, and it was true. He was all alone. There was nothing else like him because the scientists had to go through so much to make him that he was too expensive to recreate. Also, it might have to do with the fact that he blew them all sky high when he broke out. Rocket seeks death out because he thinks that may be the only way to end it. The humiliation, the nightmares, the hate and the rage and the pain. He seeks it out through his daring schemes, through his liquor, through getting into trouble, pushing people away. The scientists gave him sentience, something he never asked for. Before he was Rocket, before he was even Subject 89P13 he was something, he just couldn’t recall. Though he was pretty sure that something didn’t ponder death, or life or any weird intellectual humie crap. But he had been engineered with sentience nonetheless, so he dealt with it. In so doing he couldn’t help but wonder about the end of this thing humies call life. Whatever came after probably didn’t involve tearing at your own fur in night terrors, or clawing your best friend’s arms nearly clean off in an uncontrolled panic. So he guessed it wasn’t that bad. But it probably didn’t involve flying around with the guardians, blowing shit up and having a few laughs either. So Rocket exists within between trying his best to forget his pain and coming up with new ways to test just how far his pain will let him go. His only hope is that whatever else has come of his pain, of his loneliness, that his best friend will be alright. He would say that he does his best, but that would be a lie. Rocket lives most of his days obsessed with his machines and gadgets, his booze and keeping his memories at bay. He talks smack, drinks, gets into trouble. More than anything Rocket thinks that in death he will not loathe the very thing he is. He hopes that whatever death is, it will give him something life never has: peace.
Yondu--The One Who Has to Die
Yondu knew he knew from the moment he decided to go after Peter that doing so was a death sentence. But hey, like he told the rat, it would be the first good thing he’d ever done. A lifetime of fighting in the pits as entertainment, made a slave before he joined the ravagers Yondu knew that life was brutal and short. Kill or be killed, and maybe, just maybe you could squeeze in something good between fighting for survival. Somehow by the stars, little Peter Quill was that one thing. The destruction of Ego fell around them, but as Yondu lifted upward he felt peaceful. He knew what he was about to do, knew he had to die. But he was alright with it. After a lifetime of hate, this act of love. He had never felt better as he rode with Peter up to the Milano. He had never spoken such words of truth.
“He may have been your father, but he wasn’t your daddy.” He couldn’t believe it had taken him so many years to say it. So many years to say the one thing that had been on his mind and heart ever since he’d first taken in that little boy. Yondu never knew his family, the closest thing that he had was his crew and the rest of the ravagers. But he had sacrificed that, all for Peter. Yondu knew he had to go. Had to do this one thing for himself as much as for Peter and the rest of the guardians. The only thing that saddened him was that the rest of the ravagers wouldn’t remember him well, that he had let his entire crew, well almost his entire crew, be killed. He smirked to himself, not even in these most climactic moments could he be spared of the things he’d done. When he was a slave, he’d been made to kill innocents and combatants alike. He didn’t like doing it. Yondu lived his life by the skin of his teeth and enjoyed it, now he would die saving the only thing he had ever truly loved. It would be alright, he told himself, trying to put on a brave face for his son, as he so often had throughout Peter’s life. Yondu had been hardened by his own experience on the outside but softened by it internally. Despite his life of crime and violence he had tried to do what was best. Best for the crew, best for Peter. He tried his best not to let his life as a merciless fighter destroy his humanity. What the rest of the ravagers saw as turning soft he saw as preservation. Preserving the only once of humanity he had. No one had ever cared for him, not even his parents, but he tried his best to care for those close to him. Now he was sure he was doing so. Whatever came after this, Yondu was sure it would be something exciting. Like a whole new galaxy all for his taking. It had to be this way but it could be worse, he had seen much worse and he had done much worse to others.
When he made the decision to go to Ego it was not as a spur of the moment as it seemed. Since Peter had given him the fake infinity stone, Yondu had meant to come after him. Wasn’t sure if he’d punish Peter or not, or how but Yondu had always planned to come after him. It was the thought of Peter in mind, and now the rat and the twig, these bonds that he had made…too late. He had never valued Kraglin enough either. The only one of his original crew to stay loyal. If Yondu could have done his life over again he would have made sure not to be so callous on the outside either. Peter looked at him with panic but the archer only smiled at him. He hoped beyond all hope that Peter could tell the love in that smile. Peter would go on and although Yondu had inclination after inclination that this mission would be his fate, he would not have redone it any other way. Seeing the face of his son. This was meant to be, for better or worse. Yondu’s last tears are not of sorrow, but of joy. He is shooting onward like an arrow across the galaxy.
Groot--The One Who’s Died Before
Groot had died before. He didn’t think of it as death though. Flora Colossus saw all life like roots going into the earth. Threading out and deep and onward. The last thing he saw before it was the face of his best friend, the soul of the little creature laid bare with sorrow and longing. The last thing Groot felt before it was love. He would do this for his friends, for those he loved because they were his forest. After his home planet was destroyed Groot didn’t think he’d ever find another forest ever again, but he did in these strange, broken people. Flora Colossus knew that you had to make sacrifices. If one Groot had to uproot itself for the health of the forest, they did so. Groot was content with this, and it made him happy that his friends would be saved. They would go on. Of that he was certain. When they hit the ground, Groot felt pain. Well, he didn’t so much feel it as he did acknowledge it, but the love of what he was doing and that of his friends numbed all of it. There was a white light, like the southern sun that rose over his home world each day. Everything between that moment and his awakening was a strange amalgam of sounds and sites was a haze. When the rest of the guardians asked him about what it was like, the only word he could think of was “one.” It, whatever it was Groot didn’t know, but it seemed like a great culmination of many, many beings in one. It was not scary, nor terrible nor lonely. He tried to tell Drax this because he knew that Drax had lost his own loved ones, but it wasn’t the same. While he was re-growing he couldn’t exactly recall everything from before. It was blurry like the one, that place in between existing and not. Groot knew that all things were connected like roots, so wherever the one was, wherever he had gone was connected to other things like a great system of roots.
"We are Groot,” he had said. He chose to say, he didn’t know if they understood but he hoped they did. Groot had died before and now he was living again and it he tried to do so with as much love as he could, even more than he previously had. Groot had lived his life with mercy, perception, and joy. Three things that they tried to take from him on Halfworld. They had tried very hard to carve into him and remove such empathy but the lessons of the other Groot’s that had been instilled within his bark ran deep like water through his cambium tissue. Lessons that life and green and good things that flourish are fragile, yet powerful. Things like friendship. He was taught that all things that are good and grow need nourishment from the creatures in the forest to the other humans and alien things that inhabit the world. Groot had tried to live by these rules and would continue to do so. Dying had only strengthened his certainty that these things were important, that they were paramount. People assumed Groot had lived a life of innocence but that was not true, even though he wished it were. He had stolen, had been imprisoned for grievous bodily harm. He believed first and foremost in kindness of course, but he was also taught by his elders that they were defenders of things that grew. Sometimes this involved taking action and hurting others. Only when it was necessary. He had tried to make up for these actions by giving even adversaries the benefit of the doubt, but it wasn’t always easy. Groot had died and he had regrown and felt strange yet better for it. As he grew he was sometimes afraid that he would go back to that place. But now he was larger and roots went deeper, he had more faith in himself that he could re-grow after anything the galaxy threw at him and his friends. He hadn’t gained any otherworldly wisdom or power from his time in that place, it reaffirmed that which he already knew to be true. Life was beautiful and so was that other place he had been. Some called it death, he didn’t know what to call it besides the place where everything was one.