The deep reaches of the universe were not eternally silent. Though to mortal eyes, they were vast, dark, and filled with soundless stars.
But to certain ancient, hungry beings, that boundless darkness was merely a dining table adorned with delicious desserts.
Galactus—Galan—was one such diner.
He did not act out of malice. Hunger was his nature, the core driving force of his existence.
Maintaining his nearly infinite energy and form required unimaginable amounts of matter and energy. Planets, especially those rich in complex elements and life energy, were his preferred sustenance.
At this moment, he floated at the edge of a remote star system.
His mountain-like body, clad in deep purple and silver armor, cast a suffocating shadow beneath the dim light of a distant star.
Beneath his helmet, two points of cold white light locked onto the third planet in the system.
He could "smell" the faint, relatively primitive pulse of life within the planet.
It was negligible, barely worth mentioning, but as part of an energy supplement, it was still palatable.
Hunger, like a flame searing his soul, drove him to raise his massive hand.
An invisible gravitational field began to twist, forming an unseen giant hand that effortlessly tore apart the planet's fragile atmosphere and crust.
There was no pity, no hesitation. To him, it was like a human picking up a biscuit.
The planet trembled violently beneath his power. Its tectonic plates cracked with wails, magma surged forth, and the planet's energy was dragged into the void by an even stronger gravitational force. Along with those faint pulses of life, it was compressed, devoured, and fed into the ceaseless energy furnace within Galan.
The process was extremely swift.
A few hours later, only sparse interstellar dust and a lingering belt of debris remained where the planet