The journey through the void had been uneventful if you ignored the constant hum of engines, the occasional existential crisis of a crew member staring into the abyss, and the unsettling realization that Darion's fleet had somehow become cities in motion. Thousands of ships, colossal in size, drifted with the silent majesty of predators who had forgotten how to roar. It was the kind of sight that would inspire awe in anyone else. For Darion, it inspired mild nausea, a sense of tragic inevitability, and a burning suspicion that Grixen Fold's definition of "habitable" included the occasional likelihood of spontaneous death.
"This is it," Darion said, leaning against the console of the flagship Erevox Prime. Arms folded, expression carefully neutral, though his eyes betrayed a quiet calculation. "Our new home. That is to say, wherever Grixen Fold has managed to locate a rock that doesn't actively try to kill us before breakfast."
Kavik, perched on the edge of the console and fiddling with a gravity stabilizer, squinted at the holographic projection. "You could say it has… potential, my lord."
"Potential?" Darion's lips twitched. "Kavik, if by potential you mean barren, scorched, and vaguely suicidal, then yes. It has potential up the wazoo."
Behind them, Mira Koss adjusted manifests on a datapad, muttering, "I still don't understand how ten royal ships were supposed to cover a million people."
"Magic," Darion said. "Or insanity. In our case, often both."
The fleet began its slow descent toward the planet. Darknova, as promised by Grixen's enthusiastic brochures, was ambitious in its desolation. The soil was pitch black, as if the planet had a personal vendetta against the concept of light. At night, the dunes seemed bottomless, swallowing any star that dared to shine. The atmosphere was thin, carrying only ash, faint ozone, and the faint smell of universal disappointment.
The ships, enormous enough to be mistaken for floating cities, skimmed over the surface like reluctant gods. Darion watched the shadowed plains scroll beneath them, silent except for Kavik's occasional complaints about turbulence.
"Looks charming," Darion said, voice flat.
"Charming if you enjoy instant death," Rell Tarn muttered, one hand resting on a broad arm brace that probably weighed more than half a village.
"Optimistic," Darion said. "I admire it."
As the flagship's landing thrusters engaged, shaking the ground with the subtlety of a starquake, the party disembarked. They were met by the ever-stiff Grixen Fold, spectacles reflecting a universe that seemed to apologize for itself, and his assistant, who looked like he'd been dragged into this against his will and was already calculating the odds of survival.
"Welcome! Welcome!" Grixen's voice was too cheerful for the barren surroundings. "To your loving new home! Darknova, formerly the pride of mythical warriors and demons who once fought valiantly against Planet Emerald—"
Darion's eyebrow twitched. "Once fought valiantly? And now?"
Grixen gestured vaguely. "Destroyed, scorched, overcooked, as it were. I find it poetic, personally."
Darion folded his arms. "Poetic is one word for it. Miserable might be another. Horrifying, perhaps?"
"The budget was tight, sir," Grixen said smoothly. "Consider this an early-access version. In seventy years, perhaps life will flourish with the externally extracted resources we plan to deploy. Other options were not nearby."
Darion let out a slow, measured sigh. "Seventy years. That's… enough time for a forest to die twice over."
"And to seal the deal," Grixen continued, smiling as if unveiling a particularly cheerful guillotine, "ten of your royal spaceships in exchange for this planet, plus a year's worth of survival resources for your tribe. Satisfactory?"
Kavik muttered under his breath, "Satisfactory? More like a cosmic joke."
Darion rubbed his temple. He could feel the weight of it all — the loss of fleet, the desolation of the planet, the impossible task of making it habitable. But the alternative was returning to a universe that had already tried to kill him several times over. He exhaled. "Fine. Deal."
Mira crossed her arms. "One year? That's… ambitious."
Darion smirked faintly. "Ambitious is another word for 'we will die spectacularly.'"
Rell grunted. "Then at least we die together. That counts for something."
Kavik muttered something about duct tape and neutron stars and adjusted the shuttle's thrusters. Darion decided it was best not to ask.
⸻
Later, aboard a small scout shuttle, Darion and his closest aides skimmed low over the desolate landscape. The planet greeted them with ashes and ruins. Forests, if they had existed, were reduced to brittle husks; any vegetation had withered to dust upon touch. Crumbled cities sat like bleached bones beneath the faint, sickly sunlight. Every structure seemed to whisper, we are dead, and we like it that way.
Darion leaned forward, peering at the jagged horizon. "Charming. Absolute charm. I feel alive."
"Alive is relative," Mira muttered. "Barely functional is more accurate."
Rell grunted. "And breathable?"
"Only if you enjoy coughing your soul out," Kavik replied.
As they traveled in silence, the shuttle weaving over black sand seas, Darion's eyes scanned the horizon. Mountains of jet-black stone loomed in the distance, sharp crystal spikes piercing the sky like skeletal fingers accusing the universe of some unnameable crime. Nestled beneath the tallest of these mountains was a palace, carved directly into the rock as if the planet itself had taken offense and decided to craft a monument to despair.
Darion squinted. "Well… there's at least a museum worth exploring."
They landed and entered. Dust and sand swirled beneath their boots as the palace's interior descended deep under the surface. The corridors twisted downward, ancient runes glinting faintly in their helmet lights. The air carried a faint hum, almost musical, though it sounded suspiciously like the planet's way of laughing at them.
Finally, they reached a massive hall. Colossal bones littered the floor: claws the size of Rell's entire body, rib arches large enough to shelter a squadron. Darion whistled softly. "Looks like the last tenants were into dramatic architecture."
Scattered across the floor were old staffs and broken weapons, but none seemed worth carrying — until Darion spotted it. A relic, pulsing faintly with a reddish glow, stood at the center of a dais: a single horn, carved with intricate runes. It seemed almost alive, pulsing rhythmically as if it were breathing.
Darion's hand twitched. "Curious," he muttered. "A statue? A power source? Possibly both?"
Before Kavik could activate his energy sensors, Darion touched it. A jolt raced up his arm. His eyes flared red. A scream, inhuman and echoing, filled the hall. Shadows writhed as though the very air had grown teeth. Everyone panicked. Mira shouted, "Get back! Step away!"
Darion collapsed, his body convulsing as the red light consumed him. Rell scooped him up. "To the shuttle! Now!"
They moved swiftly. Darion was placed in a life-aid pod capable of stabilizing him no matter the injury. Machines hummed and whirred, repairing tissues, monitoring vital signs, but Darion did not wake.
Inside his mind, Darion found darkness. Endless, infinite darkness. He floated, alone, for what felt like years or seconds — time had no business here. "Lovely," he muttered, "just another vacation."
Then came a voice — rich, deep, dripping with amusement, menace, and barely contained rage.
"Finally… I have a host! Hands are good, legs acceptable, humor present. Pi-pi is okay — could be better, but this will do."
Darion sat up — or would have if there were any gravity. "Who… what the hell is this?"
"Ahem. Apologies, lad. I am The Almighty Azhurath, your lovely demon king. And you, my dear host, are mine," the voice boomed, echoing across his consciousness.
Darion blinked. "This… this is a new kind of trouble."
"Trouble? No, no, no. Consider it collaboration. I provide power, amusement, a touch of menace, and occasional existential crises. You provide a body, sarcasm, and a decent sense of self-preservation. Together… we shall have fun. And vengeance."
"Vengeance?" Darion echoed. "Against… what?"
"The Empire," Azhurath's voice rumbled, reverberating through Darion's mind like a bass drum of doom. "That wretched, gleaming pile of delusion and paper crowns. Planet Emerald, the fools who claimed superiority, the warriors who thought themselves eternal… they burned my people, scattered my kind, left nothing but ash and echoes. I have waited. I have festered. I have laughed. And now… we will return the favor. In style."
Darion groaned. "Great. Just great. Always wanted a vacation with a genocidal, sarcastic demon overlord."
"Marvelous! You have the humor gene. Excellent. We shall enjoy this partnership immensely. Together, we will make the universe remember us. And perhaps, entertain ourselves along the way."
Somewhere on Darknova, Grixen Fold's smile remained perfectly intact, stiff and unyielding. Darion groaned again. "Perfect. Just perfect." And somewhere deep inside, he knew life would never be dull again.