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Shalla-Bal soared through the cosmos, her silver form a radiant arrow piercing the void. The Power Cosmic pulsed within her, a gift and a chain binding her to Galactus’s will. Her board, sleek and silent, glided past a spiral galaxy, its arms of stars swirling like a cosmic dance frozen in time. Nebulae bloomed in the distance, their colors fading into the black, but Shalla-Bal’s thoughts were not on their beauty. Her mind churned with questions, doubts, a rebellion against the role she had sworn to uphold. She was the Silver Surfer, herald of the Devourer, tasked with finding planets to feed his unending hunger. Yet each world she marked carved a wound in her soul, a reminder of the life she had left behind.
Zenn-La haunted her. Its emerald seas, its golden skies, the laughter of her daughter, Lyla, echoed in her thoughts like a song she could not silence. Shalla-Bal had saved her world by becoming Galactus’s herald, but the cost was exile, a life of solitude among the stars. She chose planets with a cold efficiency, their inhabitants mere shadows in her mind, their lives insignificant against her master’s need. But today, as she approached a verdant world teeming with life, her resolve faltered. Its oceans shimmered like Zenn-La’s, its forests whispered of home, and Shalla-Bal’s heart ached with a longing she could not suppress.
She hovered above the planet, her silver glow casting reflections on its seas. Cities of coral and glass sprawled below, their people crafting lives of love and ambition. Shalla-Bal’s thoughts raced. What right do I have to end them? she wondered, her hand trembling as she prepared to mark the planet. Their history, their dreams, are they not as precious as Zenn-La’s? The Power Cosmic hummed, urging her to act, but she hesitated, her mind a storm of duty and defiance. I am his herald, she thought, but am I more than a tool? The question gnawed at her, a crack in the fortress of her loyalty.
Her thoughts drifted to the day she became the Surfer, a memory as vivid as the stars around her.
The beach of Zenn-La stretched before Shalla-Bal, its sands golden under a twilight sky. She walked hand in hand with Lyla, her six-year-old daughter, whose laughter mingled with the waves lapping at their feet. Shalla-Bal’s heart was light, her poet’s soul weaving verses in her mind, inspired by the sea’s rhythm and her daughter’s joy. The horizon glowed, a canvas of amber and violet, until a shadow fell, vast and cold, blotting out the stars.
Galactus loomed above, his colossal form a silhouette against the sky, his violet aura pulsing like a dying sun. The air trembled, the waves stilled, and Lyla clung to Shalla-Bal’s leg, her eyes wide with fear. “Mama, what is that?” she whispered, her voice small against the god’s presence.
Shalla-Bal’s heart pounded, but she stood tall, shielding Lyla. “Stay behind me,” she said, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her chest. Zenn-La’s elders had spoken of the Devourer, a force that consumed worlds to survive. Now he was here, and Shalla-Bal knew her world faced its end.
“People of Zenn-La,” Galactus intoned, his voice a quake that shook the sands, “your world is rich, its energy mine to claim. Submit, or be unmade.”
Shalla-Bal’s thoughts raced. Not Lyla, she thought, not my home. She stepped forward, releasing Lyla’s hand, her poet’s heart forging a desperate plea. “Great one,” she called, her voice cutting through the silence, “spare Zenn-La. Take me instead. I will serve you, find worlds for you, if you let my people live.”
Galactus’s eyes, twin galaxies of violet and shadow, fixed on her, their weight crushing. “You offer yourself, mortal?” he asked, his voice a rumble of curiosity. “To be my herald is to forsake all you know, to wander eternity in my service.”
Shalla-Bal glanced at Lyla, her daughter’s tear-streaked face a dagger in her heart. “I offer everything,” she said, her thoughts resolute. For her, she thought, for Zenn-La. “Make me what you need.”
Galactus raised a hand, and the Power Cosmic surged, a silver-amber tide that enveloped Shalla-Bal. Pain seared her, her flesh reshaping, her soul binding to his will. She gasped, falling to her knees, as her skin turned radiant, her form sleek and eternal. A board materialized beneath her, humming with power. Lyla cried out, but Shalla-Bal could not reach her, the transformation complete. She rose, no longer a woman but the Silver Surfer, her blue eyes now glowing with cosmic fire.
“Go,” Galactus commanded, his voice final. “Find me worlds, herald, and Zenn-La lives.”
Shalla-Bal looked at Lyla one last time, her thoughts a silent vow. I’ll keep you safe, she thought, then turned to the stars, her board carrying her into the void.
The memory faded, leaving Shalla-Bal above the lush planet, her hand still poised to mark it. Lyla, she thought, the name a pang in her chest. I did this for you, but at what cost? Her thoughts rebelled, questioning her role. I destroy worlds, end lives, for a god who cannot be sated. Am I still Shalla-Bal, or only his shadow? She lowered her hand, the Power Cosmic dimming, her defiance a spark against her duty.
She turned her board toward Taa II, her thoughts a tangle of doubt and resolve. I must speak to him, she thought, make him see. The Worldship loomed ahead, a monolith of machinery and energy orbiting a dying star. Shalla-Bal alighted in its dark throne room, her board fading as she stepped onto the metal floor. The chamber glowed with holographic stars, relics of a universe Galactus had known, their light casting patterns on her silver form.
Galactus sat on his throne of energy, his violet aura a restrained storm, his colossal presence filling the chamber. His eyes met hers, and Shalla-Bal felt the weight of his gaze, a god’s scrutiny that stirred both fear and loyalty. “You return swiftly, herald,” he said, his voice a low rumble vibrating through her essence. “The planet is marked?”
Shalla-Bal’s thoughts churned, her defiance warring with her oath. She stepped forward, her posture rigid, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “I have not marked it,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “Its people live, love, dream, as Zenn-La does. I question my role, my lord. To end worlds, to bear this solitude, it tears at me. Am I only your tool?”
Galactus’s aura flared, a violet furor that shook the chamber. Shalla-Bal stood her ground, her thoughts a stronghold. He must understand, she thought, I am more than his will. But his voice cut through her resolve, cold and unyielding. “You question your oath?” he said, rising, his form towering. “You swore to serve, Shalla-Bal, to find worlds for my hunger. Zenn-La lives because of you. Would you see it consumed for your doubts?”
Her thoughts recoiled, Lyla’s face flashing in her mind. No, she thought, not Zenn-La. She clenched her fists, the Power Cosmic crackling, her voice softer but firm. “I honor my oath,” she said, “but the weight of it, the lives I end, it haunts me. I am alone, far from my daughter, my home. How do you bear eternity, my lord? How do I?”
Galactus’s eyes narrowed, but his aura softened, a shift she felt in her core. He stepped closer, his presence enveloping yet not crushing. “You seek solace,” he said, his voice a rumble of reluctant warmth. “I too bear a burden, Shalla-Bal. I was Galan, a man who lived, now a god who must consume until this cosmos dies. I find no joy in it, but I endure. You will learn, as I have, to let the weight lessen. The lives you take will cease to trouble you.”
Shalla-Bal’s thoughts stirred, a mix of awe and sorrow. He feels it too, she thought, but he buries it. She stepped closer, her glow flickering, her actions bold. “And if I cannot?” she asked, her voice a plea. “If Zenn-La’s memory, my daughter’s face, keeps me tethered to pain?”
Galactus paused, his gaze searching hers. “I can ease your burden,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “I can erase your mind, strip away Zenn-La, your daughter, your past. You would serve without pain, a herald untroubled by mortal ties.”
Shalla-Bal’s breath caught, her thoughts spiraling. No pain, she thought, no Lyla, no Zenn-La. The offer tempted her, a release from the ache that gnawed at her heart. She imagined a life of pure duty, her mind a blank slate, her actions unburdened by guilt. For a moment, she wavered, her hand rising as if to accept. I could be free, she thought. Except the same thought came up, but at what cost? Lyla’s laughter echoed, her small hand in hers, and Shalla-Bal’s resolve hardened.
“No,” she said, her voice firm, her hand dropping. “I will not forget. Zenn-La, Lyla, they are why I serve. To erase them is to erase me. I will bear the pain, my lord, but I will remember.”
Galactus’s aura pulsed, a flicker of irritation or respect, she could not tell. “You choose a harder path,” he said, his voice a warning. “My graciousness grants this wish, Shalla-Bal, but hear me: if your questioning persists, our next conversation shall take a different tone. You are my herald, and Zenn-La’s fate rests in your obedience.”
Shalla-Bal’s thoughts steadied, her loyalty a beacon against his threat. I will not falter, she thought, for Lyla, for Zenn-La. She nodded, her posture unyielding, her actions a silent vow. “I understand, my lord,” she said. “I will serve, as I swore.”
Galactus sat, his aura calming, the chamber’s stars flickering. “Go,” he said, his voice softer. “Find me a world, herald. Prove your resolve.”
Shalla-Bal summoned her board, her glow flaring as she stepped onto it. Her thoughts were a storm of duty and defiance, but she buried her doubts, her actions decisive. I am the Silver Surfer, she thought, and I will endure. She glided from Taa II, her board carrying her toward the planet below. Its seas shimmered, its songs called, but Shalla-Bal raised her hand, the Power Cosmic blazing. She marked it, her amber beacon piercing the sky, her thoughts cold. For Zenn-La, she thought, for Lyla.
As she turned to the stars, a faint signal pulsed from a distant galaxy, a planet rich in energy, unknown to her. The name of the planet a whisper in her mind, though she knew it not. Her resolve hardened, her actions a promise to Galactus, to herself. She would serve, question or no, until the cosmos called her home.