Garus rode his Deathcharger across the desolate terrain of this planet, the skeletal hooves thundering over cracked earth. Withered plants littered the landscape, and scattered among them were the corpses of Skrulls, each bearing a gaping hole in their chests.
These deaths were recent.
The Brood had passed through here, leaving only devastation in their wake, much like a locust swarm stripping the land bare.
Sensitive to the energies of the universe, Garus instinctively found his direction.
Under the augmentation of his necrotic power, his Deathcharger galloped at speeds surpassing several times the speed of sound, leaving behind sonic booms as he streaked across the barren wasteland like a shadowy comet.
Before long, he spotted a massive starship grounded in the distance. The vessel, stretching for kilometers, was large enough to house thousands—it had to be the last remaining Skrull starship.
Beside it stood a fortress, its skies teeming with Brood fliers. The ground swelled with writhing, grotesque organic masses, resembling the twisted chitinous nests of the Qiraji in Azeroth.
That must be the gateway to the Negative Zone.
A luminous white sphere hovered above a collection of ruined devices, their twisted remains hinting at a desperate last stand. The Skrull Queen had spoken the truth—the dimensional rift had stabilized on its own. It no longer needed technological support to remain open.
A buzzing sound pulled Garus from his thoughts. Several Brood had noticed him, their wings beating furiously as they closed in, hungry and eager to claim fresh prey.
Garus despised insects.
The sight of them triggered a flood of memories—visions of a writhing, multi-eyed abomination trying to force eldritch whispers into his mind, much like a relentless, chittering fly.
There were too many of them. Their numbers exceeded hundreds of thousands, each varying in size and form. Even at full strength, clearing them all would be time-consuming.
He reached for the Helm of Domination.
The moment he donned it, his mental power surged. White soulflames ignited within his eyes, allowing him to pierce the veil between worlds. Summoning circles began materializing around him in rapid succession.
From the earth, undead monstrosities clawed their way into existence—ghouls, abominations, crypt fiends, flesh giants, liches...
However, he refrained from calling upon Sindragosa. The battle against the Chitauri had drained her strength, and these vermin did not warrant her presence.
With his will alone, Garus had summoned an entire Scourge army onto this forsaken world.
The flesh giants charged first, their immense weight causing tremors with every step, colliding violently with the bloated, slug-like Brood on the ground. Meanwhile, gargoyles shrieked through the sky, releasing volleys of necrotic energy upon the swarming fliers.
Then, a monstrous Brood, towering over ten meters, locked onto him. In the blink of an eye, it closed the distance between them.
Within the remnants of the Skrull stronghold, the Brood had entrenched themselves completely. The corridors were lined with pulsating, fleshy growths, and sticky, mucus-like fluids dripped from every surface. The remains of creatures—some Skrull, others unidentifiable—were scattered across the cavernous interior.
In the heart of her new nest, a massive Broodmother writhed uneasily.
This universe felt... wrong.
She had sensed its dangers from the moment her swarm entered this new starfield. If not for this unease, they would have expanded far more aggressively.
Unlike the reckless Brood King Mykrum, she was far more cautious. This trait had saved her swarm countless times.
"Why hasn't Mykrum returned?" she mused.
He had departed long ago to bring back prey, but there was still no sign of him. Anxious whispers crawled through her mind.
A distant buzzing reached her ears. Lifting her massive head, she peered toward the horizon, where a swarm of returning Brood fliers approached.
But there was no Mykrum among them.
"My Queen, perhaps Mykrum abandoned us," rumbled a heavily armored Brood general beside her. The towering creature, nearly fifteen meters in height, bore jagged, obsidian-like plating. It had long sought Mykrum's position, but had never bested him in combat.
The Broodmother had always been aware of their rivalry. She had allowed it to persist—it was useful.
The swarm finally landed, and she reached out with her mind. She instantly understood what had happened.
"Mykrum is dead."
Her voice betrayed no sorrow, only agitation. The report was vague—she did not yet understand how he had been slain.
Doubt crept into her mind.
Had she made a mistake leading her swarm into this universe? If Mykrum had been so easily eliminated, would they all soon share his fate?
"We must leave," she declared. Her instincts had saved her too many times before. She would not ignore them now.
"But, my Queen, this new universe offers boundless resources. I refuse to return and squabble with our kin for scraps," the general protested. Their faction of the Brood was weak, possessing only a single life-bearing planet within the Negative Zone. Resources were scarce, and competition was brutal.
By the Void, they were predators, not cattle breeders!
If they returned, they would eventually be swallowed up by Enarus, the Annihilation King. Their last stronghold was already in his sights.
"My Queen, if we retreat now, Enarus will consume us. Do you truly wish to serve under him?"
"General."
Her tone was final. Absolute.
"My apologies," the general muttered, knowing he had overstepped. He did not have the authority to challenge her will.
Still, dread clung to him. If they returned, it would only be a matter of time before Enarus claimed their last world, and with it, their only known gateway into this universe.
A sudden, urgent psychic pulse interrupted his thoughts.
"Intruders!"
The Broodmother turned her gaze outward, spotting a battle unfolding not far from their hive. Strange beings—neither Skrull nor Brood—had engaged her swarm.
"Are these the ones who slew Mykrum?" she wondered aloud.
The hive mind offered no answer.
"General, take our elite forces and exterminate them."
"Yes, my Queen."
The general's mandibles twitched with excitement. With Mykrum dead, there was nothing standing in his way—this battle would cement his place as the new Brood King.
His gaze locked onto the center of the enemy formation, where a lone figure stood amidst an army of the dead.
That must be their leader.
Without hesitation, the general charged, barreling through the undead with unstoppable momentum, leaving a trail of shattered bone and torn flesh in his wake as he rushed toward Garus.
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