Across the cosmos, in the Western spiral of the Milky Way Galaxy, on a planet called Zubie, death was being planned.
The throne room stretched vast as a cathedral, carved from black volcanic stone that drank the light. Torches lined the walls—not fire, but something else, something that burned blue and cold and smelled of ozone and ash. The flames cast writhing shadows across vaulted ceilings lost in darkness.
King Agaganeeyaa sat upon his throne.
Two hundred years old, ruler of Zubie, sovereign of the most powerful interstellar kingdom in known space. Humanoid in the loosest sense—his frame towered twelve feet tall, limbs elongated and wrong, joints bending at angles that defied nature. His skin had the pallor of something long dead, stretched tight over a skull too angular to be human. Eyes like molten gold burned in sunken sockets.
The air itself seemed to bend around him, warping with barely contained power.
He leaned forward, massive hands gripping the armrests of his throne—solid gold, encrusted with blood-red rubies and diamonds the size of fists. His voice, when it came, was a rumble of distant thunder.
"The child's blood will be mine. Earth shall be the altar. The universe shall kneel."
At his side stood Canstaniaa.
Seven feet of corded muscle wrapped in scales that gleamed like molten gold in the flickering torchlight. His tail—thick as a man's thigh—coiled and uncoiled behind him, the movement hypnotic, predatory. Each scale caught the light and threw it back, turning him into a living forge. His eyes, vertical-slitted like a serpent's, never left his king.
"It will be done, my lord." His voice was low, steady as bedrock. "I will tear the stars apart to save you. None shall touch you while I draw breath."
The tail rattled once—a sound like coins in a metal cup, magnified a thousand times. The advisors lining the walls shrank back, robes rustling.
Agaganeeyaa's lips peeled back in something that might have been a smile. His teeth were black.
"Ever faithful, Canstaniaa. You are the blade of my will. When I ascend, you shall stand at my right hand."
Canstaniaa bowed, scales catching the light like liquid metal. "My life is yours. My death is yours. I exist only to serve you."
The words hung in the air, more than loyalty—a vow carved into the fabric of the universe itself. The tail rattled again, the sound echoing off stone walls like a warning bell.
"Canstaniaa."
"My lord."
"This is the appointed time. Prepare the troops. We will invade Earth at its weakest point. I need new slaves—our workload increases daily. It is the only planet in the Milky Way Galaxy standing in my path." He leaned back, the throne groaning beneath his weight. "How much water have we drained from that pitiful rock?"
King Agaganeeyaa—one of the five superpowers of the universe. Leader of the mighty Amatanganya, a race known throughout the galaxy for brutality that made even the void tremble. Ruthless. Unmerciful. Unstoppable.
They had subdued every inhabited world in the Milky Way save one.
Earth.
And to conquer Earth, Agaganeeyaa had chosen the cruelest weapon: thirst.
"My lord," Canstaniaa began, his voice carrying the weight of grim satisfaction, "we have drained their reservoirs dry. Oceans recede. Rivers run empty. Humans die in the streets, throats cracked and bleeding. They are at their weakest. I believe we will face no resistance once we descend."
"Excellent." The word dripped with anticipation. "We depart in two moons. Ensure every vessel is flight-ready. I wish to taste Earth's blood. It must be... exquisite." He waved one massive hand in dismissal. "Now leave. I require rest."
Canstaniaa bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the stone floor. When he rose and turned, the torchlight revealed the armor covering his back—gray alloy, seamless and ancient, marked with symbols in a language older than human civilization. His tail dragged across the floor, leaving faint scratches in the stone.
He reached the massive doors, pushed them open with barely a touch, and vanished into the corridor beyond.
Behind him, Agaganeeyaa sat alone in the darkness, golden eyes glowing like distant suns.
Waiting.
---
Back on Earth, in Plagatoscal City, fifth floor, third door.
*Knock. Knock.*
Delvin's head snapped up, heart lurching. He knew that knock.
George.
His eyes darted to the floor. Blood. So much blood—pooled in the center of the room, splattered in arterial sprays across the linoleum, soaked into the grout between tiles.
'Damn it.'
He lunged for his shredded t-shirt, dropped to his knees, and began scrubbing. The fabric turned crimson immediately, saturated. His hands slipped in the viscous mess, smearing more than cleaning. The smell was overwhelming this close—iron and salt and something else, something wrong.
He couldn't explain this. Not yet. Not until he understood what he'd become.
*Knock. Knock.*
"Delvin?"
George's voice filtered through the door—familiar, concerned.
"Just a minute!" Delvin's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, forcing calm he didn't feel. "I'm coming!"
He gave the floor one last desperate swipe, then shoved the ruined shirt under his bed, springs creaking in protest. His hands were still stained pink. He wiped them on his jeans, smearing rust-colored streaks across dark denim.
Deep breath. Another. His pulse pounded in his throat.
He crossed to the door, hand hovering over the lock. Steadied himself. Forced his lips into something resembling a smile.
He opened the door.
George stood in the hallway, backlit by the flickering fluorescent lights. Average height, stocky build, wearing his usual flannel and jeans. But his eyes—sharp, intelligent—swept past Delvin into the room beyond.
"Hello, George." Delvin's smile felt plastic, unnatural. He widened it, willing warmth into his expression. Casual. Normal. 'Nothing to see here.'
George's gaze snapped to his face. His brow furrowed. He tilted his head like a dog catching an unfamiliar scent.
"Hello, Delvin." He stepped forward, not quite pushing past, but close enough that Delvin had to retreat. "Something smells off in here."
George's eyes narrowed, sweeping the room—the overturned coffee mug, the damp patch on the floor, the air thick with the cloying scent of copper masked imperfectly by cheap air freshener.
He looked back at Delvin, suspicion carved into every line of his face.
"W-what aren't you telling me?"