The Great Feast

“Pest; unbeaten illness of ancient time.

Pest; the scourge of mankind, and the decline.”


There is no human numerical value that can represent the distance between Earth and The Great Feast. If one were to attempt to create such a symbol, they would slowly be stricken with a vicious form of insanity (no doubt cosmic deities thwarting the development of lesser life-forms). Needless to say, it is unreachable to us and more than likely will be for the remainder of our existence.

In the infinite void of space, lies The Great Feast. With or without our small and meaningless knowledge of things, it continues to drift aimlessly amongst the furthest of stars and blackest of voids. And it will continue to do so until a woefully unfortunate mass of matter crosses its path.

Eons ago, a war was waged between two eldritch races. Nothing is known of what caused the grueling conflict, nor of its outcome. All that’s left of that destructive era is The Great Feast. Knowledge of it and its presumed whereabouts are only whispered in skepticism throughout the countless amounts of tomes housed in ancient libraries located on ancient planets.

Due to the complete lack of any breathable atmosphere, necrosis was not present to allow The Great Feast to wither away into oblivion. Its thick hull transformed into a frozen wasteland. The flesh beneath has been mummified several times over. It serves as a rotting gift of war, and a home to a throng of incestuous parasites.

Miles below icy skin and toughened flesh lies the largest section of an ever deepening cavernous breach. Fragments of frozen plasm litter the empty space within. And along the walls of this massive wound; billions upon billions of inbred insectoid life forms. All of them endlessly writhing about like an ocean of pests in the absolute darkness.

Each is not without a unique and grotesque genetic deformity. The pure ones died off nearly a millennium ago, leaving almost no visually noticeable trace in these pitiful excuses of life. Centuries of repeated inbreeding have led to the latest catastrophic strain. They are spawned within The Great Feast, and there they shall also meet their eternal blessing of a demise.

If you would be able to strip away all malformity from them, they would all (or at the very least; half) resemble something along the lines of bipedal scorpion-like creatures. They have no eyes, but instead seemingly sense the vibrations in the matter around them. Thin, keen barbs serve as feet so they can pierce the inner flesh of The Great Feast. Though, they mostly propel themselves through the void by pushing themselves off of whatever they can perch themselves on.

They have mouths resembling and functioning similar to that of inverted drills, which they use to grind up pieces of crystallized flesh. A tail sprouts from their bony, ridged spines. They use this skeletal appendage to hack away at the edible walls, as well as use it as a means to loosely grasp objects. And the intelligence of these creatures is comparable to an average insect.

Even though sustenance completely surrounds them, the parasites suffer from malnutrition. Most nutrients from The Great Feast faded away an eternity ago. Some have grown fond of cannibalism as the primary method of satisfying hunger. But most continue to feed off of the prison in which they are encased in.

These presence of the parasites nearly predates The Great Feast itself. They were, in fact, leeching off its body while life still coursed through it (if such a time even existed). The very few who have studied the archaic texts slightly concerning The Great Feast are almost led to the conclusion that it had always been dead. Such a thought is not entirely folly. It’s difficult to imagine something that has been dead for practically its entire existence as once an animated being.

But without regard to its history or its future, The Great Feast and the parasites exist. And it proceeds to crawl throughout the uninhabited depths of the void. Woe to whomever stands upright on any sphere and bears the sight of The Great Feast; for that sight shall be the end of you, and all whom you consider ilk.

  • Adam Warlock

    Good story it’s different I like that.