Prologue of the healerstory we have been talking about earlier

(Chapter 1 will come in a half an hour or so depending how long it will take. Maybe i get a second chatper before 12)



The void of intergalactic space was absolute—no atmosphere to scatter light, no planetary surfaces to reflect the glow of distant stars. It was an abyss of perfect darkness, punctuated only by the cold shimmer of celestial bodies, distant and indifferent.
Then, a fracture in the silence.

A vessel materialized from the depths of hyperspace.
It was vast, stretching for kilometers, a leviathan of obsidian metal that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. Veins of cerulean luminescence pulsed along its hull, shifting like liquid energy, as if the ship itself were alive. It moved without propulsion, without the telltale burn of thrusters, gliding forward as if space itself bent to its will.

Before it sprawled the Milky Way—a swirling expanse of stardust and cosmic fire, a spiral of light suspended in the void. Rivers of ionized gas wove through its arms, nebulae burned in hues of violet and crimson, while collapsed stars lurked in the shadows, devouring anything unfortunate enough to stray too close.

A deep, resonant voice echoed through the ship’s bridge.
“What a wretched galaxy. Everything I sense here is so… weak.”
Commander Draethor’s voice was laced with disdain as he observed the star map before him.
“It’s only a restock mission. Servants and cannon fodder, nothing more.” Vaelora, seated beside him, waved a pale hand dismissively, her expression one of boredom. “But I must agree—this galaxy is pitifully fragile. You could almost snuff it out by accident.” Her emerald eyes flickered as she gazed into the void, unimpressed.

Draethor and Vaelora were Zevathar—an ancient race of unparalleled strength and dominion. Everything about their lineage was exceptional. Their lifespans could outlast the collapse of black holes, their power was insurmountable, and their warriors were without equal. Their skin, a stark white, contrasted sharply against their towering, muscular forms. Four piercing eyes adorned their faces, their irises a deep green, glowing faintly in the dim light of the bridge.

But even they were not without flaw. Their numbers were few—Zevathar rarely bore offspring. And their thirst for power? Insatiable. Their civilization revolved around war, conquest, and proving supremacy. There was no higher purpose than strength, no greater honor than victory. Their armies, built upon the backs of countless subjugated races, swept across the universe like a storm.
And now, they had come for new recruits.
Not warriors, not equals—fodder.

The towering spires of their training grounds, the Ascension Towers, would forge these weaklings into something more useful. The process was simple: throw them into the lowest levels and force them to fight their way up. Those who survived would be sent to war, their bodies and souls reshaped through brutal trials and genetic conditioning. Even the fragile creatures of this galaxy would either evolve… or perish.

“How long until we reach our destination?” Vaelora asked, her voice tinged with impatience.
“Roughly two hours, Mistress Vaelora,” the navigator responded swiftly.
The navigator was Zhyr’khan, one of the reptilian races that served the Zevathar. Towering and broad-shouldered, the Zhyr’khan had the massive, scaled bodies of predators, with crocodilian jaws lined with razor-sharp teeth. They were built for endurance and brute force, their loyalty earned through fear rather than respect.

“Hmph. Still too long.” Vaelora leaned back into her throne, exhaling in irritation. “Which of the many creatures we’ve gathered do you think will perform best?”
Draethor considered the question, his four eyes narrowing. “The dragonkin. The rest are weak, but at least they have some physical advantages. The world we are currently approaching, however? I see no potential in them.”

“Their chances of survival are abysmal,” Vaelora agreed, smirking. “I heard they’ve increased the slaughter trials in the tower. If even ten percent make it through, I’d be shocked.”
The two fell into silence, watching the slow, hypnotic drift of the stars as they passed. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then, finally, the ship’s scanners honed in on their target.
A small blue planet.
The third world from its sun.
Earth.

Draethor grimaced as he studied the readings. “What a disgusting little planet. Look at their oceans—filthy. Do they not bother maintaining their own world?”

Vaelora laughed, scrolling through the gathered data. “You’d almost think we’re doing them a favor by abducting them.”

Draethor scoffed. “And their so-called democracy—does it even function? It’s a wonder they’ve survived this long.” He let out a booming laugh, shaking his head.
Pathetic creatures.
Weak. Undisciplined. Unworthy.

And yet, their sheer numbers were impressive—over eight billion of them infested this tiny world.
“At the very least,” Draethor mused, leaning back in his throne, “the other races will enjoy slaughtering them in the trials.”

Vaelora merely sighed, stretching her arms before giving a curt gesture. “Let’s get this over with.”
One of the Zhyr’khan bowed and disappeared into the corridors, activating the retrieval protocols.
The screens before them flickered as hundreds of black ships descended through the planet’s atmosphere.

A silent, unstoppable force had come to claim humanity.
Their fate was sealed.