The Galaxy, in the grand scheme of things (and there seem to be quite a lot of schemes these days), is nothing. It is merely one of countless, an isolated area in the middle of darkness, and filled with inhabitants who don't even know just how low and alone they are. The lives of those that live within this Galaxy are brief, and full of pain, and yet throughout it all there seems to be a curious blissfulness about them. They cannot see the darkness that lies beyond the edge of their Galaxy.
The Great Devourer sees the Galaxy, and it sees an island.
The Devourer is a long way, now, from its birthing days, and has changed much from the time it first saw and learned the basic rules of life. Where once it was held fast in the body of a mere grub, now it physically exists over hundreds of light-years, made of up of a multitude of organisms so vast there would be no point in trying to count them all. It has encountered individualism, and collectivism, reached what could be called a religion and saw that religion fall, and has spread across over more than twenty galaxies. In life, it knows that it is still utterly insignificant compared to what could be, what is no doubt out there in the vastness of the universe, and yet it still continues living, still continues growing, because it has never lost track of the most important law – life is death is life.
It has only just noticed the Galaxy, and it sees an island full of life and advancement. Even now, as the first faint molecules of its being start to investigate, it senses the inhabitants, and (as all living things) it is curious. They are hostile – and to the Great Devourer, that is not something to be surprised about. All life is hostile, everywhere, each bit of life seeking to survive as best it can. And as life is death is life, often that survival must mean the death of others.
The Great Devourer seeks to learn more. In the vast amount of time it has been alive, it has (perhaps due to that mutation, a quirk of nature that would bear consequences for thousands and millions of species) always attempted to learn, for anything can be used for survival – anything. It keeps what it learns, and deep, deep within its many zillions – for that is really the only proper word for a creature of its size, zillions – of mental cells, it recalls everything it assimilates.
But, even as the Tyranid Hive Fleets tear open worlds and descend upon countless planets in ravenous swarms, the Great Devourer only minutely experiences what new knowledge and genetic material it is receiving from the Galaxy. Even as without thought it immediately begins the sort out the most efficient use of all data and material gained, it does not have enough of itself present currently to investigate further. And this…
While the Great Devourer thinks in ways so xenos that humanity cannot even begin to attempt and fully explain how it thinks, the closest emotion one might be able to say as to the Devourer's thoughts on this is anger.
The Great Devourer is curious about this Galaxy, this island, and even as it seeks to live it seeks to learn. Across the void of space, billions of Hive Fleets go dead – still adrift, but…asleep. The Devourer does not relinquish control, but it shuts down part of itself, letting a vast majority of its being gently fade into sleep.
And then it has become numb, and the Devourer acts through only quadrillions of Tyrannic organisms, rather than all of itself. It looks, with more clarity now, at the Galaxy, being able to now distinguish the mightiest clusters of species among the stars from each other. Even as the first faint brush of the Great Devourer passes over the Galaxy, more worlds are eaten, and it takes in more knowledge. This island, it appears, will be a nourishing, if not especially fruitful one.
The Great Devourer sees the Galaxy, and sees its inhabitants.
The Great Devourer sees the inhabitants, and learns.
