"Ben!" Rook rushed to his side. "Are you injured?"

Axiom lowered its hand. The single wing folded, and the galaxy in its chest dimmed.

Vilgax’s triumphant roar died in his throat. "What… what is that?"

Ben slammed his palm down.

The time bomb’s hum turned into a scream. Reality was collapsing into a single point. But Axiom raised one hand. It didn’t punch. It didn’t blast. It defined .

Ben stood up, cracked his neck, and forced a grin. "Yeah, well. Let’s stick with Four Arms next time. At least when I punch a guy, he stays punched."

"I… came here to negotiate," Vilgax whispered, his voice hollow. "Why did I come here?"

Axiom . The Final Variable.