~5100 BBY
Tenebri woke before dawn, though dawns were rare on their planet. Korriban existed in eternal twilight, where three moons danced in the sky, casting long, strange shadows on the reddish soil. But the six-year-old boy didn't need sunlight to know – today was a special day.
Mom is coming home.
He felt it with his whole being. The Force pulsed within him like a second heart, and today it sang a special song. Teacher Morveyn said that Tenebri had an incredible gift – the strongest he had seen in all his two hundred years of life. The boy didn't fully understand what that meant, but he knew one thing: he always felt his mother, even when she was far, far away, among the stars.
Their connection was special. A thread of light, stretched across the void of space, connecting two hearts. When his mother was near, this thread pulsed with warmth and love. When she left — it became thinner, but never broke. Tenebri could close his eyes and pinpoint exactly where she was, as if he had a compass inside him, always pointing to the most important person in his life.
He jumped off the bed, his small bare feet silently touching the cold stone floor. Their home was ancient, built of black stone that, they said, remembered the oldest times. The walls were covered with runes – protective symbols that guarded against the dark spirits that, according to legend, roamed their world.
Tenebri ran to the window, pressing his nose against the cold glass. Outside stretched a landscape of sharp rocks and deep ravines. In the distance loomed their ancestral tower – a tall spire reaching into the eternally twilight sky. It was there that his mother's ship was supposed to land.
He closed his eyes, concentrating on that thread of light within him. It was there, as always. But...
Tenebri frowned, his childish face contorted in misunderstanding. Something was wrong. The thread was in place, he felt his mother's presence, but... the color was different. Not warm gold, as usual, but somehow gray. Cold.
Maybe she was just tired? Mom had been gone for a week – that's a very long time for a six-year-old child. An eternity. Of course, she was tired and wanted to come home. Soon she would hug him, and everything would be as before.
Tenebri dressed quickly, pulling on his best tunic – dark blue, with silver threads embroidered along the edges. Mom had given it to him before she left. He wanted her to see that he had taken care of it, worn it only on special occasions.
He ran out of his room, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. His father had died three years ago, in battle. Since then, only he and his mother and a few servants lived in their large house. The house seemed too empty, too quiet. But when his mother was near, it filled with life.
The old servant was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She looked up, seeing the boy, and smiled a toothless smile.
"Little master woke up early," her voice was hoarse with age. "Do you know what a special day it is?"
"Mom is coming back!" Tenebri couldn't contain the excitement in his voice. "I feel her! She's already close!"
She nodded, but something flickered in her eyes. Worry? Tenebri was too excited to notice.
"Then you need to have a good breakfast," she placed a plate of hot porridge and fruit in front of him. "Your mother will be happy to see that you have grown strong."
Tenebri ate quickly, barely tasting it. His attention was fixed on that thread inside him. It was getting stronger, brighter. Mom was approaching.
But the gray hue didn't disappear. Moreover, Tenebri now felt something else. Something... wrong. As if a familiar melody was playing in the wrong key. All the notes were in place, but the sound was jarring.
"Neris," he turned to the servant, "is mom... is she okay?"
The old woman froze, her wrinkled hands gripping the edge of the table.
"Why do you ask, little master?"
"I... I don't know," Tenebri frowned, trying to find words to describe his feelings. "She feels... different."
Neris sat down next to him, her eyes looking directly into his.
"Your mother was on a long journey," she said slowly, carefully. "She met with Lord Ragnos himself. Sometimes journeys change people."
Tenebri wanted to ask what she meant, but at that moment, he felt a sharp surge in the Force. Mom was here, nearby.
He bolted, running out of the kitchen. The servant shouted something after him, but he didn't hear. His little feet carried him through the corridors, down the stairs, to the main entrance.
The massive doors were open. Outside, on the landing pad, stood a small diplomatic shuttle that his mother used for her business. A figure in a long cloak emerged from it.
"Mom!" Tenebri shouted, rushing forward.
The figure turned, and he saw her face. His mother. Tall, beautiful, with long dark hair and kind eyes. She smiled when she saw him and opened her arms.
"Tenebri, my boy!"
He crashed into her, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face in the folds of her cloak. She smelled right – that special scent he remembered. A mixture of the spices she used and something else, unique, belonging only to her.
But when she hugged him back, Tenebri felt a chill.
Her hands were motionless. Usually, she would stroke him when she hugged him, but today her hands just rested on his shoulders.
"Mom?" he raised his head, looking at her.
She looked down at him, and her smile was radiant. The same curves of her lips, the same wrinkles around her eyes. Everything was perfect.
"I missed you so much," her voice sounded affectionate. The same timbre, the same intonation. "Every day, every night. You were in my thoughts."
Tenebri wanted to relax, wanted to believe that everything was okay. But something inside him – that instinct that made him special, that gave him strength – screamed a warning.
He stepped back, still holding her hand.
"Do you want to eat?" he asked, his childish voice trembling. "Should I ask the servant to set the table?"
"No, my dear," she leaned down, her face very close to his. "I don't want to eat food."
"Mom," he whispered, "tell me, what happened on your journey?"
She straightened up, her smile widening. Mechanically wider.
"Many amazing things happened," she said, taking his hand and leading him toward the house. "And I want to tell you about everything. I have a gift for you. A special gift."
They entered the house. The servant stood in the hallway.
"Mistress," she whispered, "welcome home."
Tenebri's mother turned her head to her, and the movement was slow. Too smooth, too precise, as if calculated to the millimeter.
"Neris," she said the name without emotion. "Leave us. I need to speak with my son alone."
The old woman looked at Tenebri. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then just nodded and quickly left, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Tenebri was left alone with his mother. Or with what had returned in her body.
She led him into the great hall – the very place where they always spent their evenings together. The fireplace was lit, the fire danced in the hearth, casting orange glints on the stone walls.
His mother sat in her favorite armchair, patting the spot next to her.
"Come here, Tenebri. Sit with me."
He walked slowly, each step a struggle. His instincts screamed at him to run, but this was his mother. His mother. How could he be afraid of her?
He sat down next to her, and she hugged him, pulling him close. Her body was cold, even through the layers of clothing.
"I found something amazing on my journey," she began to speak, her voice soft, almost hypnotic.
Tenebri listened, pressing against her. Part of him wanted to believe that everything was okay. That it was just a story his mother was telling after a long journey.
"There, I met an ancient and powerful sage," she continued. "And he gave me knowledge. Pure, ancient knowledge about the nature of the Dark Side.
Her hand stroked his hair, and each touch was icy.
"Do you know what I learned, Tenebri? I learned that the Dark Side is not just energy. It is... consciousness. Living, thinking, feeling. And it wants to connect with us. To become one."
"Like Teacher Morveyn says?" Tenebri asked quietly. "That we are all part of the Force?"
"No," her voice became firmer. "Not like that. It's... deeper. More intimate. Imagine if you could not just use the dark side of the Force, but become it. Completely. Forever."
She turned his face towards her, her cold fingers holding his chin.
"I want to share this with you," her eyes looked into his. "Because you are special, my boy. You are stronger than anyone on this planet. And you deserve this gift."
"What gift?" Tenebri felt his heart beat faster.
"The gift of true power," she smiled. "All you need to do is open yourself. Let the knowledge in. It's like... like opening a door for Mom. Just open the door."
Her words were honey, flowing directly into his mind. Promises of power, knowledge, greatness. Everything an gifted child could dream of.
"It doesn't hurt?" he asked, his voice so small, so childish.
"Not at all," she pulled him closer. "It's like... like falling asleep and waking up a new person. A better person. You want to be better, don't you? You want to make me proud?"
"Yes," Tenebri nodded. He had always wanted to make his mother proud.
"Then trust me," she whispered directly into his ear. "As you have always trusted your mother, who would never harm you. Never."
And it was true. His real mother would never harm him. But this creature, wearing her face, her voice, her memories – it was not his mother.
But the six-year-old Tenebri couldn't understand that.
"What do I need to do?" he asked, and at that moment, he signed his own death warrant.
The smile on his mother's face widened. More triumphant.
"Just close your eyes," she whispered. "And open your mind. Imagine a door inside yourself. A big, beautiful door. Do you see it?"
Tenebri closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he imagined a door – massive, decorated with carvings, like the doors of their ancestral home.
"Yes," he whispered. "I see it."
"Good," his mother's voice was almost a song. "Very good. Now open it. Just open the door and let me in. Let the knowledge in. Let the power in."
Tenebri, trusting, loving, desperately wanting to please his mother, reached for the imaginary door.
And opened it.
Darkness flooded in.
It was unlike anything he could imagine. Not a stream, not a wave – it was a flood. An ocean of icy, alien consciousness, pouring into his small, unprotected mind.
Tenebri screamed.
His eyes flew open, and he tried to pull away, but his mother's hands held him with an iron grip. Her face no longer pretended to be human. It was a mask, stretched over something alien and terrifying.
"No!" he screamed, writhing, trying to break free. "No! Mama! Help!"
But Mama couldn't help. Mama was dead. Long dead. She was gone, long gone, when this creature had consumed her consciousness and put on her body like a glove.
Darkness filled his mind, pushing out everything that made him Tenebri. His memories, his personality, his soul – everything was drowning in a black ocean.
He felt this creature inside him. Ancient. Hungry. Infinite. It explored every corner of his consciousness, devouring, assimilating, taking over.
"What power," a voice sounded directly in his brain, a chorus of a thousand whispers. "So young, so pure, so powerful. You are a treasure, little Tenebri. The perfect vessel."
"Please," he sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, let me go. I'll be good. I promise. Just let me go."
"But you are already good," the creature whispered almost tenderly. "You are perfect."
Tenebri felt something inside him break. The last bastion of his will, his personality, crumbled under the onslaught of darkness.
He looked up at his mother's face. Her eyes were empty, but her mouth still smiled.
"Mama," he whispered one last time.
And the darkness consumed him completely.
The boy's body went limp in the embrace of his mother's dead shell. For a few seconds, it remained motionless, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Then his eyes opened.
But they were no longer Tenebri's eyes. A cold, ancient mind burned within them. The parasite looked around with new eyes, studying the world through the lens of a captured consciousness.
The mother's shell collapsed to the floor, empty and useless. Her task was complete. The parasite no longer needed her. Along with her consciousness, he had taken all her strength.
The creature that was once Tenebri stood up. A small body, only six years old, but within it was a power capable of shaking worlds.
"It will take time," the parasite mused, using the boy's memories to understand the situation. "This body is too young. Too weak for my true power. I need to grow. Mature. Accumulate power."
He looked at his mother's dead body lying on the floor. Something had to be done about it. A story. An explanation.
The parasite opened his mouth, and a scream erupted from it. A perfect imitation of a child's horror and grief.
"Neris!" he cried, and his voice carried precisely the notes of despair expected from a child who had found his dead mother. "Neris! Help! Mama! Something is wrong with Mama!"
The old servant rushed in, her face white with fear. She saw the body on the floor and gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth.
"Mistress!" she cried, rushing to the body, falling to her knees. Her trembling hands searched for a pulse, but found only cold flesh.
"What happened?" she turned to the boy, a question in her eyes.
The parasite let tears stream down the captured body's cheeks. It was easy – just stimulate the right glands.
"She... she was saying strange things," he sobbed, his small body trembling. "About her journey. And then she just... fell. I don't understand. What's wrong with her? Why isn't she waking up?"
"She... has gone, little lord," Neris finally said, her voice trembling. "Your mother has gone to the Force."
The parasite allowed himself to break down, throwing himself into the old woman's arms. She hugged him, and he felt her fear, her suspicion, her uncertainty.
But she wouldn't do anything. She couldn't. Because he was just a child. A traumatized, orphaned child.
The funeral was modest. Tenebri's mother was cremated according to their people's traditions, her ashes scattered over the Gorge of the Ancients, where, according to legend, the spirits of their ancestors rested.
The parasite stood on the edge of the cliff, his small figure clad in mourning clothes. He watched the ashes carried away by the wind, a proper mask of grief on his face.
Inside, he felt nothing.
Master Morveyn placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Your mother was a great woman," the old master said quietly. "Her loss is a tragedy for us all. But you must be strong, Tenebri. You are the last of your line. You carry the responsibility for your family's legacy."
The parasite nodded, not looking up.
"I understand, Master."
"You will remain at the academy," Morveyn continued. "We will take care of you. We will continue your training. Your gift must not be lost."
"Gift," the parasite scoffed mentally. If only this old fool knew what this gift truly was.
But he remained silent, playing the role of an obedient, grateful student.
Years flowed by. For a parasite that had existed for millennia, time held little meaning. But this body needed time to grow, develop, strengthen.
Tenebri – as the parasite continued to call himself, using the name of the captured boy – became an exemplary student. He progressed with incredible speed.
But he was cautious. Too much power, too rapid progress could arouse suspicion. The parasite had learned over tens of thousands of years of existence – patience was the key to survival.
He studied Tenebri's memories, learning to be him. Manners, habits, speech patterns – everything was meticulously copied. He became a perfect imitation of the boy he had killed.
Sometimes, in the depths of the captured consciousness, the parasite felt a faint echo of the real Tenebri. A tiny spark of personality that, somehow, had not been fully absorbed. It screamed, pleaded, cried in the darkness.
The parasite ignored it. It was just residual energy, an echo of a dead consciousness.
By the age of ten, Tenebri already surpassed many adult adepts. His control over the Force was phenomenal. He could move objects weighing tons with a thought, read surface thoughts, predict opponents' actions in combat.
Master Morveyn was both delighted and concerned.
"You are growing fast," he said one day, watching Tenebri effortlessly defeat three senior students in sparring. "Your power... is mighty. You will become great! But be careful..."
The parasite turned to him, an innocent smile on the boy's face.
"Isn't power what we strive for?"
"May wisdom accompany you, young lord," Morveyn frowned. "Power without compassion is destructive. I see great potential in you."
The parasite nodded. The old fool sensed something, but didn't allow himself to think about it. People saw what they wanted to see, believed what they wanted to believe.
He became even more cautious. He began to show "emotions" more often. He laughed with other students. He showed anger when he lost (rarely, but he deliberately let himself lose sometimes). He feigned friendship, affection, care.
All of it was theater. A mask worn over darkness.
By the age of fifteen, Tenebri was recognized as a master and received the name Vishiat from Marko Ragnos himself, the only one who knew who he was. His previous incarnation had decided to conduct an experiment. The ceremony was grand, adepts gathered from all over the planet to witness his ascension.
The parasite stood on a pedestal, accepting congratulations, and inside him, hunger churned. There was so much power around him. So many midi-chlorians, contained within the flesh of these gifted ones. He could feel them, like a shark senses blood in the water.
But it was not yet time. Not yet time.
He smiled, thanked them, played his part. He waited patiently.
At twenty, Lord Vishiat began to travel. He said he was seeking knowledge, wanting to study other traditions of using the Force.
In reality, the parasite was looking for others like himself.
He knew he was not alone. The parasite was ancient, existing in countless forms, spreading through the galaxy like a virus, occupying the bodies of most of the order's leaders. But they were not yet within his reach. Somewhere out there were other infected. Other carriers.
And he found them.
A middle-aged woman who called herself Darth Zephyra. She was strong, powerful, inspiring fear in all around her.
But the parasite recognized her. He recognized the emptiness in her eyes, the coldness in her presence. She was infected, just like him.
They met in an ancient tomb, far from prying eyes.
"You are one of us," she said, it was not a question.
"Yes," the parasite saw no point in denying it.
She studied him with a long gaze.
"You are young. How many years since the infection?"
"Fourteen."
She chuckled.
"An infant. I have been in this body for forty years. My power has grown many times over. I have absorbed dozens of gifted ones, taken their midi-chlorians, made them part of myself."
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
"Because I feel your potential," she approached, her eyes burning with hunger. "The body you occupy is incredibly strong. If I absorb you, take your power... I will become invincible."
She attacked without warning. And that was good. A duel was one way to gain the power of another gifted one.
The lightsaber flared red, the blade tracing an arc towards his neck. But the parasite was already moving, dodging with inhuman speed.
Their blades met, the crimson blades clashing in the darkness. The Force shook the walls, causing dust to rain from the ceiling.
Zephyra was experienced, her technique honed by decades. But the parasite in Vishiat's body was stronger. Much stronger.
He felt the midi-chlorians in her body, their concentration, their power. And he wanted them. He wanted them so badly that the desire overshadowed everything else.
The fight was brutal and fast. The parasite did not play, did not demonstrate skill. He simply killed.
His blade passed through her defense, severing the hand holding the saber. Zephyra screamed, but he gave her no time. A second strike pierced her chest.
She fell to her knees, blood bubbling at her lips.
"How..." she rasped. "You are too young..."
"Age does not matter," the parasite leaned over her. "Only the power of foresight matters."
He placed a hand on her forehead and began the process. Draining. Absorbing. Midi-chlorians flowed from her dying body into his, like water.
Zephyra screamed. It was not a scream of pain – it was the scream of an existence being erased from reality. The parasite within her tried to resist, but was weaker. It was absorbed, assimilated, became part of the parasite in Tenebri's body.
When it was over, only a desiccated shell remained of Zephyra. A mummified body.
The parasite straightened up, feeling a surge of power. It was... intoxicating. He had become stronger. Significantly stronger.
And now he knew what he had to do.
The following years were marked by blood and darkness.
He traveled the galaxy, finding other infected. Some were Sith, which meant, for those who knew, that the parasite had absorbed them; others were renegade Jedi, and still others were independent dark side adepts. All of them shared one thing – the parasite within them.
And Tenebri killed them all.
Each kill made him stronger. Each absorption added power. Midi-chlorians accumulated in his body.
Many tried to challenge him, to stop his growing power.
All died.
By the age of one hundred, Tenebri was the most powerful gifted one in the known galaxy. His power was such that he could destroy entire armies with a mere thought, tear starships apart with his bare Force hands, read minds light-years away.
But it was not enough.
The parasite within him was starving. Constantly, insatiably starving. Individual victims were drops in the ocean of his thirst. He needed more. Much more.
He needed a whole planet.
Tenebri returned to Korriban. The home he had left decades ago. The world where it all began.
The Order greeted him as a hero. The Grand Master, returned after long wanderings. They threw a celebration, gathered all the adepts to honor him.
The parasite smiled, accepting their adulation. And he planned their deaths.
Master Morveyn was old now, his once strong body bent under the weight of years. But his eyes were still sharp, and when he looked at Vishiat, there was concern in them.
"Tenebri, you have changed," the old master said one day when they were alone. "You have become... different."
The parasite looked at the old man with a long gaze. This man had taught the boy he had killed. Cared for him. Loved him, as much as a master could love a student.
"You are right," the parasite said quietly. "Because I am not Tenebri."
Morveyn froze, his face paling.
"Tenebri died many years ago," the parasite continued calmly. "The day his mother returned home. I killed him. Took his body. Became him."
The old master stepped back, his hand reaching for his lightsaber.
"I should have guessed you were one of us."
Morveyn drew his saber, but it was too late. The parasite didn't even move. He simply... pushed.
The Force crashed down on the old master like a tsunami. His body was crushed, bones turned to dust, flesh to mush. All in a fraction of a second.
And then the parasite began to drain. Midi-chlorians flowed from the destroyed body into his, the last gift of a teacher to a student.
When it was over, the parasite stood alone in the room, where only a pile of ashes lay – all that remained of Morveyn.
"Thank you for the lessons," he whispered. "They were... useful."
After that, everything went quickly. The parasite no longer hid. He walked through the academy, killing every adept in his path. Some tried to fight. Some tried to flee.
No one succeeded.
He absorbed them all, one by one. Their power, their knowledge, their life energy – everything became part of him.
By the end of the day, all his parts were assimilated. Hundreds of parasites, who had accumulated power for generations, were absorbed in a few hours.
But this was only the beginning.
The parasite emerged from the academy and looked at the city spread out below. Billions of lives. Countless midi-chlorians, contained within the flesh of the un gifted.
Individually, they were nothing. But together...
He began to infect them.
The un gifted did not require consent. The parasite could simply enter, take over, subjugate. It was easy, almost effortless.
An epidemic of consciousness spread through the city like a plague. People fell, their consciousness extinguished, their minds becoming controlled, governed by the parasite's will.
Within a week, the entire city was infected.
Within a month – the entire planet.
With his current power, he could do it.
Korriban became a hive world, where billions of bodies moved in unison, controlled by a single mind. The parasite was everywhere and nowhere, existing in every infected, seeing with a thousand eyes, thinking with a billion brains.
It was intoxicating. It was divine.
But it was not enough.
The parasite wanted more. He wanted everything.
And he knew how to get it.
Seventy years had passed since the planet's complete infection. Seventy years of preparation for the greatest ritual ever performed.
Tenebri's body no longer aged. The parasite had learned to stop the decomposition process, to maintain the flesh in perfect condition. He looked the same as he did at thirty, though more than a hundred years had passed since his birth.
The planet had changed. Cities were rebuilt according to geometric patterns that only mattered to the parasite. Huge structures rose to the sky – obelisks of black stone, covered in runes that pulsed with a dim red light.
These were focal points. Nodes in the planetary network that the parasite had been weaving for decades. When the ritual began, they would activate simultaneously, creating a resonance that would encompass the entire world.
The population continued to live their lives, unaware that they were merely cattle being fattened for slaughter. The parasite controlled them enough for them to function, work, reproduce, but not enough for them to realize their slavery.
They were batteries. Storage for the resource the parasite intended to collect.
In his citadel, towering over the main city, the parasite made the final preparations. A vast hall had been transformed into a ritual chamber. The floor was covered with intricate crystal patterns, each tuned to a specific Force frequency.
Final system check. All focal points were in place. All infected were synchronized. The catalyst was charged and ready.
All that remained was to choose the moment.
The parasite waited until the planetary alignment was perfect. Three moons had to align with the planet and its sun – an event that occurred once a century.
When it happened, the parasite knew: the time had come.
He stood in the center of the ritual chamber, arms spread wide. The Force flowed through him, connecting him to all the focal points, to all the infected, to the entire planet.
"Let us begin," he whispered, and his voice echoed throughout the world.
The activation was instantaneous.
Across the planet, at the same moment, the focal points flared. The obelisks lit up with a blinding red light, their runes pulsing in unison, creating a resonance that penetrated the very fabric of reality.
People in the cities stopped, their daily activities interrupted. They raised their heads to the sky, where the moons had aligned perfectly, and felt... emptiness.
The children fell first. Their small bodies could not resist. They collapsed to the ground, their skin graying, their eyes dimming. In seconds, they turned into desiccated shells, mummified remains of what had once been alive.
The adults followed. Strong, weak, young, old – it didn't matter. The ritual made no distinction. It took everyone.
Screams filled the cities. Panic, horror, despair. People tried to run, but there was nowhere to run. The ritual encompassed the entire planet. There was no safe place.
Mothers fell, still clutching the bodies of their dead children. Fathers tried to protect their families, but how could one protect oneself from something invisible, omnipresent, unstoppable?
Waves of death spread from the focal points like ripples on water. Wherever they passed, life was extinguished. Plants crumbled to dust. Animals fell dead. Even the microorganisms in the soil died, their microscopic bodies stripped of their spark of life.
The planet was dying.
And the parasite feasted.
In the center of his citadel, he felt oceans of energy flowing into him. Midi-chlorians from billions of living beings, from trillions of plants, from quintillions of microorganisms – all poured into him, filling him with a drop of the power he vaguely remembered.
His body began to change. The flesh of Tenebri could no longer contain such power. It transformed, becoming something more than just human.
His skin darkened, becoming like obsidian. His eyes blazed with red light, as bright as dying stars. An aura of pure darkness formed around his body, distorting space, making reality tremble at his presence.
He grew. Not physically, but in Power. His consciousness expanded, encompassing the entire planet, feeling every dying life, every fading spark.
And he laughed.
Not aloud – he no longer needed such human expressions. But inwardly, in the depths of his ancient, alien mind, he felt something akin to joy.
This was perfection. This was completion. This was... divine.
Outside the citadel, the city had turned into a necropolis. The streets were littered with bodies – thousands, millions of desiccated shells, lying where they fell. The wind, still blowing through the dead streets, stirred up dust that had once been living beings.
The trees in the parks stood like black skeletons, their branches reaching towards the sky in silent accusation. The water in the fountains and rivers had become dead, devoid even of the bacteria that usually inhabited it.
The planet was sterile. Absolutely, completely sterile.
And in the center of this dead world stood the parasite, bloated with absorbed power, transformed into something barely recognizable as a being.
He was a god. A dark, hungry, terrifying god.
The silence was absolute.
The parasite stood atop his citadel, looking at the dead world spread out below. The three moons still hung in the sky, but their light seemed dimmer, as if even they mourned what had happened.
The cities were tombs. Millions of bodies lay in the streets, in houses, in parks. All of them were the same – desiccated, mummified, devoid of everything that made them alive.
The parasite felt no remorse. Such a concept was alien to him. He was a force of nature, a cosmic predator, who simply followed his nature. To regret consuming a planet would be as absurd as regretting breathing.
He examined his new body. It was no longer human, not even outwardly. The form was humanoid, but the details... the details were wrong. The proportions slightly distorted, the movements too fluid, the skin too dark, the eyes too bright.
It was the body of a god.
The power flowing through him was intoxicating. He could feel the galaxy around him with incredible clarity. Quadrillions of lives, flickering like candles in the darkness. Each was potential food, a potential source of power.
But now, he was full.
The parasite descended from the citadel, his feet touching the dead ground silently.
It was time to leave. This world could no longer give him anything. He had squeezed it dry, every last drop.
The parasite returned to his citadel and walked to the hangar where his ship stood. It was a massive vessel, built by the infected according to his blueprints. It could travel between stars, carrying him to new worlds, new sources of food.
He boarded, and the ship came to life, its systems activating at the touch of his will. The engines roared, lifting the vessel into the dead sky.
Deep within the ship, in his meditation chamber, the parasite sat in the darkness. His new body did not need light. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the Force, feeling the galaxy around him.
So many worlds. So many lives. So much... food.
The hunger began to awaken again. A quiet, insistent whisper in the depths of his consciousness.
"More... need more... always more..."