They called me Star-Lord, a name I wore like armor. Beneath that mantle was Peter Quill, a man once free and now shackled in the depths of the universe. My celestial heritage, a secret I kept buried deep, had no place in the hellscape I found myself in. It was my humour that kept the darkness at bay, a facade to hide the anguish of my existence.

It started on a day like any other, the distant stars twinkling as I scoured the galaxy for a score. It was supposed to be a quick grab—a valuable artifact from a forgotten planet. But I miscalculated. The Ravagers who called themselves my family turned on me, delivering me into the hands of slavers. They knew I was valuable, but they didn't know why. I was more than human, more than the scrappy thief they saw. But to them, I was just another commodity.

The slave pits of the Kree were notorious, a labyrinth of suffering and despair. The Kree knew how to break a man, but they didn't know how to break me. They stripped me of everything, but they couldn't take my spirit. Each day was a new battle, not just for survival but to keep my true nature hidden. If they knew I was half-celestial, they would have exploited it until there was nothing left of me.

The conditions were inhumane. I lived like a rat, scavenging for anything to keep me alive. Food was scarce, and what little we got was barely edible. I ate rats, the very creatures I shared my existence with, their meat a rare delicacy in this hell. Water was even harder to come by, often found in the filth of drain pipes. It tasted foul, but it kept me alive. I scavenged like a rat, lived like a rat, but in my heart, I was still Star-Lord.

In the end survival wasn't just about enduring the physical torment; it was a mental game. I learned to read my captors, to understand their routines and weaknesses. My humour, the jokes, and the light-hearted demeanour were all part of my strategy. I made them underestimate me, made them believe I was harmless. They laughed at my antics, but behind every joke was a calculated move, a step closer to freedom.

The guards were brutal, but they were also arrogant. They never suspected that the funny man, the one who made them laugh, was plotting their downfall. I scavenged not just for food but for anything that could be used as a weapon or a tool. I traded stories and favours with other prisoners, gathering information and resources.

It was during one of these trades that I found my first key to freedom—a small vial of a deadly toxin. The Kree used it to keep the prisoners in line, a drop of it enough to paralyze a man. But I was no ordinary man, and I had no intention of being their slave forever. I began to collect these vials, hiding them in the filth where no one would think to look.

The day of reckoning came sooner than I expected. The guards had grown complacent, their laughter echoing through the halls as they watched me perform my daily routine of antics. They never saw the change in me, never noticed how I had stopped scavenging for food and started scavenging for something more lethal.

One by one, I began to poison them. It was a slow process, a drop in their drink here, a smear on their food there. The toxin was potent, and it didn't take long for them to start falling. They thought it was a plague, some new disease brought in by the latest batch of slaves. Panic spread through the camp, and in the chaos, I made my move.

I had studied the layout of the camp, memorized the guards' routines, and identified the weakest points in their security. It was a game of patience, waiting for the right moment to strike. When it came, I was ready. I slipped through the shadows, my heart pounding in my chest as I made my way to the control room. The guards were distracted, their attention focused on the sick and dying.

With the control room in my hands, I disabled the security systems and opened the gates. The prisoners, many of whom had given up hope, saw their chance for freedom and took it. Chaos erupted, and in the midst of it, I slipped away, blending into the sea of desperate faces.

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As I watched the Kree guards fall, one by one, a dark satisfaction filled me. Their eyes, once filled with arrogance and cruelty, now mirrored the despair and fear they had inflicted upon us. I relished in their anguish, the taste of vengeance sweet on my tongue. Each gasp for breath, each cry for mercy, was a symphony of retribution. My humour faded, replaced by a cold, calculating ruthlessness.

It was in these moments that something primal awakened within me. I didn't know it then, but it was my celestial nature, a force beyond human comprehension, stirring in response to the madness around me. It overwhelmed my sanity, blurring the lines between justice and vengeance. I was more than a man; I was something other, something powerful and terrifying.

The title "Star-Lord" was born not of heroism but of destruction. In a fit of rage, fuelled by my celestial nature, I seized control of a Kree warship. They had taken everything from me, and now it was my turn. I targeted one of their stars, a hub of their power and influence. With a single, devastating shot, I blew it apart. The explosion was cataclysmic, a supernova that decimated not just the star but a nearby habitable planet.

I watched from the bridge as the star went supernova, the planet caught in the blast. Billions of lives snuffed out in an instant, a grim testament to my power and my rage. The Kree would remember this day, remember the man who had brought such destruction. They would fear the name "Star-Lord," a name that echoed with the fury of a celestial being.

The destruction left me hollow. The weight of what I had done, the lives I had taken, pressed down on me like a vice. My rage against my jailors had consumed me, driven me to an act of unspeakable violence. I fled the scene, a fugitive once more, but this time with the blood of billions on my hands.

I wandered the galaxy, a free man but a haunted one. The memories of my captivity, the faces of the dying Kree, haunted my dreams. My humour, once a tool for survival, became a mask to hide the torment. I kept my celestial nature hidden, afraid of what might happen if anyone discovered the truth.

But even in the darkest times, there was light. I found a new family among the misfits and outcasts of the galaxy. Gamora, Drax, Rocket, and Groot—they became my new crew, my new purpose. Together, we fought against those who would bring darkness to the universe. Together, we laughed and joked, keeping the shadows at bay.

It wasn't until I met my father, Ego, that I learned the truth about my celestial nature. He revealed to me that I was more than human, that I was part of something ancient and powerful. The revelation was both a blessing and a curse. It explained the darkness within me, the overwhelming force that had driven me to such lengths in the slave pits. But it also terrified me.

Ego's teachings were seductive, promising power and immortality. But I had seen what power could do, how it could corrupt and destroy. I remembered the faces of the Kree guards, the satisfaction I had felt in their dying moments. I didn't want to become like that, to let the darkness consume me.

In the end, it was my friends who saved me. They reminded me of who I was, of the light that still shone within me. With their help, I rejected Ego's vision of power and chose a different path. I chose to be Star-Lord, a guardian of the galaxy, a protector of the light.

Freedom tasted bittersweet. The prison was behind me, but the scars it left were deep. I wandered the galaxy, a free man but haunted by the memories of my captivity. My humour, once a tool for survival, became a mask to hide the pain. I kept my celestial nature hidden, afraid of what might happen if anyone discovered the truth.

But even in the darkest times, there was light. I found a new family among the misfits and outcasts of the galaxy. Gamora, Drax, Rocket, and Groot—they became my new crew, my new purpose. Together, we fought against those who would bring darkness to the universe. Together, we laughed and joked, keeping the shadows at bay.

The past is never truly forgotten, but it can be kept at bay. The memories of eating rats and drinking from drain pipes, of outsmarting my slavers and watching them die—those memories are a part of me. But they do not define me. I am Peter Quill, Star-Lord, a man who has faced the darkness and found the light.

In the quiet moments, when the laughter fades and the stars stretch out before me, I remember. I remember the boy who was taken from Earth, the man who survived the pits of the Kree, and the celestial being who hides beneath the surface