The Destroyer of Worlds.
Driven by an unending hunger only fed by the unbridled energy of life sustaining planets.
Imagine a hunger that large. Try to imagine the mind that could process that unending, ceaseless need. Or the conscience that could exist to snuff the spark of all living things.
I am his herald.
I will not allow him to devour cultures… societies…life.
I find dead worlds upon which my master feasts.
Worlds like this are ideal: mausoleums to cultures millennia-gone.
There is infernal algebra at play in my mind always. The price that his hunger demands to be paid is never paid easily.
I sail the cosmic winds finding these rare gems in his name.
He is sublime.
He is awe and terror.
And I am his ambassador.
I sense something…
Somewhere out there…
Powerful and alive…
On the edge of my consciousness I sense a great source of energy that could feed him for ages.
And I am away.
For my master must feast…and everything must, someday, surely die.
I am the Silver Surfer.
I am the Herald of Galactus.
I do not wish to be the herald of death.