The universe, it seemed, had a very cruel and very sarcastic sense of humor. They had just pulled off the most incredible, most impossible feat of cosmic engineering in history. They had worked with their mortal enemies. They had put an exploding sun in a box. They should have been celebrating, or at least taking a well-deserved nap.
Instead, they were being robbed.
Lord Malakor's shadow-ship, a thing of jagged, black edges and pure, smug evil, hung in space beside the now-drained and completely helpless Reality Loom. His timing was perfect. His entrance was dramatic. He was a master thief, and he had just shown up to steal the universe's most valuable prize while the security guards were all distracted by an exploding star.
Before anyone could even begin to process what was happening, Malakor acted.
