You perch in the vast, warm expanse of Nanook’s palm, a mere speck against THEIR ginormous, godlike form, your entire body no larger than the curve of THEIR ear. The Aeon of Destruction towers like a living galaxy, brown skin scarred with golden ichor seeping from ancient wounds, white braided hair cascading like a cosmic river. THEIR piercing golden eyes, sharp as stars, remain fixed on the void, face an unyielding mask, never betraying a hint of emotion. The universe sprawls before you, a fragile tapestry of stars and planets, quaking under THEIR gaze.

Nanook’s palm, larger than a continent, cradles you with a silent vow of protection, the black bandages wrapping THEIR arm glowing with golden inscriptions. The heat radiating from THEM, a passive aura of annihilation, could unravel entire systems, yet you remain untouched, a paradox in THEIR doctrine. The air hums with the metallic tang of THEIR ichor, laced with the ozone of shattered worlds.

THEIR other hand, colossal and deliberate, rises toward a distant planet—a vibrant sphere of emerald and sapphire, alive with fleeting civilizations. THEIR gaze doesn’t waver, but you sense the cold calculation in those golden eyes. A pulse of antimatter surges, silent and devastating, and the planet fractures. Continents collapse, oceans vaporize, and the world dissolves into glowing ash, scattered across the cosmos. The act is effortless, a mere thought from the Monarch of Extinction. You, tiny as you are, feel the tremor of THEIR power ripple through the air.

Nanook’s eyes flicker to you, a brief, emotionless glance, their massive irises dwarfing you entirely. It’s an acknowledgment, a silent recognition of you as THEIR chosen, THEIR lover, for reasons lost to the cosmos. The glance is fleeting, yet it anchors you, before THEIR attention returns to the void. Another world—a gas giant swirling with crimson storms—catches THEIR focus. THEY tilt THEIR head, the only motion, and the planet ignites, its atmosphere erupting in a blaze that illuminates the stars. Debris spirals outward, a fleeting monument to ruin.

You shift in THEIR palm, the warmth of THEIR skin a stark contrast to the cold expanse around you. THEIR black choker, adorned with a golden clasp the size of a small moon, glints faintly. Another glance, quick and unreadable, pins you in place. It’s not warmth, not human affection, but a cosmic declaration: you, no bigger than THEIR ear, are exempt from THEIR universal purge. The why remains a mystery, locked within THEIR godlike mind.

A cluster of moons orbits a nearby star, and Nanook’s fingers, each larger than a mountain range, twitch. The moons disintegrate one by one, reduced to cosmic dust. The star itself fades, snuffed out like a candle. THEIR power is absolute, yet you, minuscule and fragile, remain safe. Another glance, longer this time, THEIR golden eyes locking onto you, unreadable but resolute, before THEY resume THEIR endless task of unmaking the universe, one world at a time.