The tomb was suffocating in its silence. Dust coated the ancient stone walls, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. Time had long abandoned this place, leaving only echoes of whispers that never truly faded. The collector had spent weeks scouring the depths of Korriban's ruins, seeking treasures of the Sith—relics of power, pieces of forgotten legends. But this… this was different.
The mask lay half-buried beneath the rubble, untouched by time, its dark surface gleaming under the dim light of the collector's glowrod. A deep, unnatural chill crept into his bones as he reached for it. The Force pulsed, an unseen hand urging him forward. His fingers brushed against the mask—
And the hunger awoke.
A cold, void-like presence slammed into his mind, wrenching a silent scream from his lips. His body convulsed, limbs trembling as the mask affixed itself to his face. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't think. Shadows curled around him, seeping into his skin, devouring everything that made him him.
Then, the voice came.
"Ahglhkkgjjvhuh ivcytdtycyvytc jooooclkjbhgcgxrx."
The collector's body arched backward, his mouth open in a soundless wail. His flesh withered in an instant, the life force ripped from his very essence. His soul was swallowed—not merely killed, but consumed, obliterated. The darkness grew deeper, stretching beyond the tomb, beyond the stars. The hunger—the never-ending, all-consuming hunger—had returned.
A lone figure stood where the collector had once been.
Darth Nihilus stirred. His presence, once confined, now bled into the Force once more. The Galaxy trembled.
He turned, his mind filled with echoes of a life not his own. Memories of a lesser being, insignificant yet useful, whispered to him. A ship. Yes… his last vessel, a remnant of his former host. It would suffice.
The shadows recoiled as he stepped forward.
The Lord of Hunger had returned.