Calling Star-Lord "a petty man drunk on success" might have been a slight exaggeration, but the truth was close enough. From the very beginning, Peter Quill had never been a combat-oriented hero. Nearly everyone else on the team could fight better than him. He might not have been the undisputed weakest, but he was usually fighting for either last or second-to-last place. If he was second-to-last, it was only because he was bigger than Rocket Raccoon. If Rocket Raccoon had been as tall as him, Star-Lord would have been the absolute bottom of the barrel.
His lack of fighting ability had caused Star-Lord plenty of trouble. Most of the time, he could only trade jokes and banter with enemies to stall for time; he hardly ever got a chance to fight head-on. Forget Cosmic Elders—even the ordinary foot soldiers of the universe's two major Mechanical Empires were more than he could necessarily handle. Countless battles across the stars had taught him only one skill: running away.
Star-Lord had never imagined that he could one day become this strong—he had sent the Cosmic Elder Grandmaster flying with a single blow! And the Grandmaster was no weakling even among the Cosmic Elders!
He immediately realized that this might be one of the rare shining moments of his life. If he did not fight now, then when would he?
Of course, a normal person would have stopped to consider why they were fighting and what the consequences would be. But the Guardians of the Galaxy were not normal people, and Star-Lord was especially abnormal. So he promptly tossed those common-sense questions aside and charged forward with a howl.
The other Guardians of the Galaxy had no idea why he had attacked, but since the fight had already begun, they naturally could not stand