The throne room was alive.
The black-crystal pillars pulsed with a heartbeat not their own, veins of light weaving through them like constellations. Beneath the vaulted ceilings, stars were caught and frozen, glittering like fragments of eternity. The hall overflowed with beings of every kind — humanoids clad in shimmering armor, mech-frames bowing low, alien monarchs trembling in reverence.
And there, upon the throne, sat Cayenne of Syvthoth.
He did not need to raise his voice to be heard. His words, mellifluous and soft, rippled like bells through the chamber. It wasn't deep, nor high, yet each note was flawless — unique, unforgettable. A voice not meant for war, yet capable of silencing it. His entire being screamed of gentleness, of warmth.
His sapphire-blue eyes, brighter than stars, seemed carved from the galaxy itself. They glimmered like gems, infinite and profound, swallowing all who dared meet them. Behind long, voluminous lashes that fluttered like butterfly wings, his gaze was the ocean — deep, endless, and all too kind for an Emperor who ruled over machines and monsters alike.
His pale face carried a faraway look, as though his mind was both here and scattered across galaxies. Fluffy blond hair framed him, impossibly soft, cascading to his hips like a river of silk, glowing faintly under the starlight chandeliers. Sometimes messy, sometimes glamorous, it always shimmered as though even chaos itself bent to flatter him. Every step he took left strands flowing behind him like a comet's tail, every motion delicate, as though the universe itself slowed to watch. His fingers were slender, svelte, elegant — hands that had the power to sign away empires, yet trembled when cradling a child, when soothing a frightened alien, when offering bread to the poor.
The Zergs called him their star. Each one was bound to him through the soul link — every flicker of emotion, every breath, every heartbeat mirrored across the swarm. They lived because he lived. They adored him not as a ruler but as existence itself.
But devotion curdled that night.
The bathwater was steaming, perfumed with jasmine petals. Cayenne leaned against the carved stone edge, lids half-shut, body glowing faintly in the haze. For once, the galaxy's burdens were gone. He looked like an angel descending into water.
His attendant entered quietly, tray in hand. A porcelain cup of tea. The same as always.
"Your Majesty," he murmured, bowing low, voice quivering with reverence. "Please… Rest more. Drink."
Cayenne's lips curled gently. He reached without hesitation. He never doubted those he trusted.
The poison was sweet.
And the moment it slid down his throat, the galaxy screamed.
The soul link ruptured. Agony unlike anything imaginable shot through the swarm. Zergs who had never known pain convulsed and collapsed, keening in a chorus that shook entire worlds. Claws tore trenches into the ground, armored beasts smashed their own heads against stone walls, titans the size of mountains writhed, gouging rifts into the earth.
In orbit, living warships split apart as their cores pulsed erratically with the Emperor's agony. Fleets once perfectly synchronized turned inward, tearing into each other with mandibles and plasma fire. Worlds burned not by invasion, but by the swarm's grief.
In the tunnels of distant hives, hatchlings shrieked and clawed at their carapaces until they bled ichor. Soldiers ripped their own limbs free, unable to bear the torment. Those too strong to self-destroy turned outward — entire swarms poured across borders, obliterating cities in blind rage, not for conquest but because their grief needed to consume.
The Zergs could not cry. But the sound of their wailing filled the void between stars.
And through their shared agony, they felt everything. Cayenne's confusion. His choking breaths. His trembling fingers as the cup slipped from his hand.
"It hurts… Why…?"
The attendant caught his Emperor as he slumped, pulling him from the bath, pressing his lips to damp golden hair with shaking devotion. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with steam and jasmine petals.
"Shh… Shh, don't be afraid," he whispered, voice trembling yet resolute. "You were too kind for them. Too gentle. This world would only tear you apart. So I'll preserve you. You'll stay beautiful. Untouched. Mine."
The Zergs felt Cayenne's last breath. His sapphire eyes dimmed, flickering like stars before they collapse into eternal night.
And madness drowned the galaxy.
Civilizations burned overnight. Worlds were emptied of life, their skies filled with fire. Swarms crawled across continents, oceans boiled under the heat of their fury. Entire planets were stripped bare, corpses buried beneath endless waves of chitin and claw.
And the first to taste that madness… was the attendant who had dared betray him.
The Zergs dragged him from the shadows where he thought himself safe. His screams echoed for days, carried on every broadcast, every hive-link, every planet where Zerg blood had spilled. They didn't kill him swiftly. No — their Emperor's death had been slow, suffocating, each heartbeat drenched in betrayal. So they repaid it in kind. They flayed the man's mind open, replaying Cayenne's last moments through him until he begged for death. Then they remade his body, again and again, tearing it apart and knitting it back together, only to rip it apart once more. He lived longer than any human should, stretched beyond reason, beyond mercy, because mercy no longer existed for those who had wronged their Emperor.
By the time he finally died, not even his bones remained. Only silence. Only rage.
Yet at the center of it all, they guarded him.
His fragile body was carried into a casket of black starlight, drowned in fields of jasmine. They laid him gently within, claws and mandibles trembling, their whispers echoing in a language older than suns:
"Rest."
"Our Star."
"Sleep until you return to us."
The rampage never ceased. Their grief never softened. They slaughtered not for hunger, not for conquest, but because the void inside them could never be filled.
And then—
Far away, in another world untouched by Syvthoth's blood, Cayenne Sethvyet, arrogant son of a Duke's family, opened sapphire blue eyes at nine years old.