Far beyond Olympus.
Far beyond even the familiar constellations of the Marvelous Universe.
In a distant spiral galaxy where light itself seemed reluctant to linger, there existed a world feared across countless star systems.
The Zerg Planet. It was not beautiful. It was not majestic. It was a scar in space.
The surface pulsed with organic structures — massive living towers grown from hardened flesh, rivers of bio-acid carving through crimson terrain, skies thick with drifting spores that glowed faintly like diseased stars. The air vibrated with a low, constant hum — the collective consciousness of a species bred for annihilation.
The Zerg were not conquerors in the way empires understood conquest.
They did not negotiate. They did not occupy. They did not rule.
They consumed.
When a Zerg fleet descended upon a world, there was no prolonged siege, no drawn-out resistance that stretched for months or years. The fall of a planet was measured in minutes.
