"Please… we will find more races for you to devour. Spare us—we'll do it immediately," a trembling voice pleaded.
On a desolate planet, a man sat upon a throne, his chin resting lazily on his arm. Below him knelt a few strange beings with sixteen ant-like legs and a single chubby hand. Their skin was blue, their bodies covered in thick armor. They had only two fingers on their hand and resembled a grotesque fusion of insect and humanoid.
This was the Devouring Race—once the most feared species in their universe. They stood at the apex of power, forcing all other races to offer sacrifices or face annihilation. But now, the mighty had fallen. The Devouring Race was no longer the devourer… but the provider.
Their era of dominance had ended. And the bitter truth? They were the last race still alive in their universe.
They pleaded not out of arrogance, but desperation. Both they and the being on the throne knew—they were clinging to a hope that no longer existed.
