Far, far away, in a small solar system of seven planets, three of them spoke of life still in their infancy.  All three of them circled next to each other, the third, fourth and fifth in the system that had no name, because no civilisation was advanced enough to give it such.  But they named their worlds, and the third known as Breeya, was the warmest with sweltering forests and only 40% ocean.  Here lied the Khurkhur, a wide-spanning tribe of deer-folk who lived always in the woods.
Being herbivores, they relied on knowing what plants to eat or else suffer the risk of death.  This was why the Khurkhur chief was chosen for their wisdom rather than strength, as they sheltered in great forests and hunkered down in caves beneath the sweltering roots.  It was a balmy day in the wide oaken woods where birds chittered and strange reptiles skittered through the rushes, as the Khurkhur played in a small clearing.
All of them were naked except for decorative strips of bark for wrists and necklaces, and they were just starting to develop a new language whilst the two-legged deer scrabbled in the dirt and wrestled each other for fun.  The smaller ones  tried to headbutt each other with their tiny bumps, their fur still fresh and sandy whilst the adults whooped for their offspring to succeed and the elders boiled herbs into a soup.
	"TANNA, HUU HUUN!"
	"EKALAYA, PANA, POH POH!"
	"NnnnnRRRRAAAGH!"
	"HOOOOOWEH!"
A boy succeeded in overcoming his rival, forcing him underneath and panting hard at his victory before they got up and were rewarded for their battle.  The winner got his soup first, as two adults took their turns next with fully-developed horns to lock each other in combat and try to throw the other to the ground.  From the largest cave, amongst infants and mothers, the chieftain sat in her own room splitting apart the stems and crushing leaves carefully.
	"Kuuuukokoko, akahanaha, teeseefeepatee, nohhhhmeeeya."
	"Tahtah!" a child scrabbled close to the elder.  "Uuuh uuuh!?"
	"Aaaah, mowoha," she beckoned them close, "tchee, tchee."
The gangly little fawn stumbled close to the thin grey-furred chieftain, who wore an old deer skull and wore a "vest" of wooden tags.  She demonstrated the art of botany by twisting off the leaves to file them down, and put them down in their own pot.
	"Nihiyah," she pointed to the bowl then mimicked a sneeze, "ha-CHOO, koh, salat?"
	"Mmmmm oh-oh," the child nodded then pointed to another, "uuuh uuh?"
	"Teyyyha," the chief rubbed her chest, "hrrr, efoh, mmmmoh."
	"Oh-oh."  The boy picked up a short bone.  "Neh?"
	"Mmm, mowoha!" she patted beside him.  "Anana, tuuh, tuuh."
	"Oh-oh."
The youth followed the lessons of his chief, using the bone to grind down the leaves and twist the stems before separating them into different pots.  Through various charades she explained which ones nursed the heart, which ones cured a cold and which ones soothed a sore limb.  It was a pleasant time, despite the sounds of whooping and tussling from outside as dust was kicked up and a little blood was spilled.
The sun passed over the trees to dapple their fur in spots of white, as they sat together and ate up their stew of boiled leaves before the sun suddenly began to fade with a darkening sky.  To celebrate the end of the day, All the Khurkhur would dance in little jigs with their wooden tags clattering to make a rippling drum sound throughout the woods.  They whooped and hollered and spun on their hooves in gratitude for surviving another day.
	"TOHHONDA!" the chieftain stepped out of her cave.  "Entayah okomee-taah!"
	"Tekehh?" squeaked one female.  "Tivana?"
	"Toma, kuuf, tchee!"
The leader motioned her strongest to climb up the trees and observe what was happening.  Something was wrong, she said essentially, the sun had gone too quick and the shadows were too odd in how they swallowed the trees.  The first Khurkhur to witness the end of their world, would suddenly recall the first dreams they had as children, of suns bleeding thin like a drained eye that would bring eternal night.  But the eye they saw was nothing like the sun.  They blinked once in fear.  And so it blinked back at them.

=========

	"But does it not say?" asked one boar.
	"Yes but it can say many things," said another, "a thousand birds scratch the earth long enough, they will tell a prophecy for everything."
	"Yes yes I know but, look how concise the pictures are, this was not the ramblings of a mad-pig.  This was someone who understood the shifting of the stars, look they even marked Suin before Artot and Ghent, they clearly understood astronomy!"
	"That does not mean we should assume the worst, this is all very metaphorical.  Ancient cultures always tended to be such."
Two anthro boars stood in a cave, casting their torches across the wall where strange pictures showed a bird eclipsing the sun, wrapping three other circles in its wings and impaling one upon a strange shaft.  The old cavern was sculpted by hands clearly, but there were no bones nor traces of habitation left apart from the odd abandoned campfire.
The visitors were dressed in long togas round their hefty furry bodies, one black-furred and one grey, their tusks filed down to remove the points as they stroked their chins and squinted harder.  They took out some parchment and copied the drawings before making their way back out, traipsing across the plains towards a resplendent town of marble structures.  Houses were carved out of white rocks where the pig-folk cooked on hot stones, children kicked a leather ball in the square, and the older folk sat on benches to discuss matters of the day.
	"Ahhh, Denehin," a red swine waved to them, "how goes the exploration?"
	"Strange," the dark pig shook his head, "the chart is too precise to be ramblings, Suin and Artot are in the right positions to Makrin."
	"I still think it's a flight of fancy," his grey friend gestured, "our ancestors were capable of imagination."
	"Which normally does not require precision."
	"Then what DOES the bird mean, Denehin?" the silver boar turned to him.  "Is there really some giant god-bird who shall wrap the world in their wings?"
	"Well, perhaps that part is a metaphor," said Denehin, tapping his tusk, "but what does it mean?  Is it a constellation, a sign?  There's nothing left of the original inhabitants."
	"Consider Morkham's Razor," the crimson pig wagged his finger, "if a stone falls down a hill, do not suspect someone threw it first.  Now return to your studies, both of you."
	"Yes, master," they bowed together.
Heading towards one of the largest buildings in the white town, they sat on the floor and compiled their notes on vellum scrolls and make their own arguments towards the odd symbols.  Several more had been found for them to compare and contrast, each of them relating to the stars their people had charted for a few centuries.
	"Perhaps it was an eclipse?" asked Denehin.  "Our ancestors mistook it for bird wings covering the sun?"
	"Not a bad theory," said his friend, "better than being literal."
	"Do you have news from the city?"
	"No, my sister said last letter there was a small flood."
	"Again?!" the black boar thumped his knee.  "Suin be damned, have they not learned to handle those by now!?"
	"The drains overflowed," his grey friend shrugged, "they can only do so much."
	"We can do BETTER, we have hands, we are Niusa, we can dig more!"
	"Not everything is fixed by doing more."
	"Well I disagree."
	"That's why we're partners."
The silver pig leaned over to smooch his friend who blushed sweetly at him, grumbling slightly but his smile grew as they kept on scribbling and comparing.  The first hour was a breeze as they debated astrology, the light shining down through holes in the roof.  Then came the darkness, a sudden black obscuring their vision as they looked up frustrated.
	"HOY!" shouted Denehin.  "Stop blocking the light, I know it's you Madruf!"
	"S-SIR, SIR!" a piglet in a kilt squeaked from the door.  "THE, S-SUIN, IT, I-IT-"
	"Wha...Madruf, how are you-"
	"COME ON, HURRY!"
	"What the bloody snout is happening?"
They stepped outside and immediately realised.  The sounds of panic grew across the marble town as a great shadow cloaked across the lands, and darkened the mountains far on the horizon.  The Niusa watched in awe and fear at the giant mass swarming across the sky, blotting out the sun and all the clouds along with it.
	"What...wh-what is this?" the dark boar whispered.
	"I-i...I don't know," his lover gasped, "I don't even know, it's not...this is not an eclipse."
	"But there's a moon, see?"
	"That...that's not a moon," their red-haired mentor shuffled up, "that...that is nothing we have seen in our time."

==========

The fifth planet that came after Breeya and Makrin was one even less developed than the Khurkhur.  They had no name for their home nor even a language to converse with, no tools nor methods of farming as they huddled in the long deep valleys of a rich red desert.  They were hunters who slaughtered any that came near.  They were savage dogs who cared for nothing except their own families.  They were known only as Gaariik.
One family lived on a small cliff that overlooked the narrow twisting path, ragged hounds with dusty unwashed fur and long shaggy manes that kept watch for other intruders.  Everyone understood each other's boundaries, the various mutts dotted throughout their separate caves as they howled warnings to the other clans, whilst sometimes climbing up the ridge to hunt down prey.
Amongst them was a scarred belligerent father, with one missing eye and a dark blue coat.  His wife was obedient and servile, her golden-sand fur still shining despite the packed dust between her hairs as their two children galloped round the cave within.  Two boys fought with ruthless vigour, biting each other with snarling fangs and scratching their faces until one would finally submit with a shrieking yelp, before rolling away.
The loser was a pale blue, whilst the winner had a brownish-orange tint as he panted happily to his father.  Father smiled at his strongest son, then snarled at the weaker for failing to make the pup balk and curl his tail.  He motioned them to follow him outside, clambering up the cliff to seek out food for tonight.  There were some feral goats beside the western hills, grazing by themselves and bleating under the crimson sun.
The first-born son, the stronger brown youth, kept close to his father's side and dove into the long grass.  The second-born trailed behind, his body slumped to the ground as they crawled on all fours inching closer to their prey.  The white-haired beasts scanned the world around them, keeping watch mid-chew as Father rolled quick into the dirt to cover his scent.  First and Second would follow too, before continuing their climb.
They watched one goat shuffle away from the herd, searching foolishly for that greener grass on the other side.  The black hooves trotted closer to three wolves hiding in the stalks, the wind blowing towards them to keep their scent invisible from the horned prey.  Father bared his teeth and lunged with a vicious chomp, the goat screaming in horror from the fangs that squeezed his neck.  Blood spattered before his eyes as the jaws crushed his throat, a rasping bleat signalling his death to the herd that scarpered in fear.
Father barked to his sons to chase after them, as First and Second galloped on all fours to catch up to the second-slowest goat.  The earthen mutt was just a little faster, and after the longest minute of his prey's ending life, he chomped down on its back leg to make it stumble.  But the goat was stronger than expected and kicked First in the face, knocking him back with a yelp as Second tore past him like a blue phantom.
What he lacked in strength, Second made up for in speed as he tore past the staggering goat and went for its throat, the two rolling across the dirt before the wolf snapped its neck.  A happy little grin came from the blue-furred beast, wagging his tail in pride before First grabbed his head and threw him off with a barking snort.  The two started fighting, but the dark-orange beast had his jaws on the goat right when Father showed up, howling with pride at his first-born.
Second whimpered and flailed his hands, trying to explain it was him who killed the prey, but Father slapped him with a clawed fist and roared at him before turning to his favourite son, nuzzling him with a pleasant growl as they carried their food back home.  The second-born son frowned with a snarling rant, kicking the dirt and pounding with his fists insisting he was the killer, but First simply laughed in a huffing sound as he lugged the dead goat on his shoulders.
But their return from the hunt would be shadowed by a dark moon, something rising in the sky that blacked out the world and put them into eternal night.  They looked up with a hooting panic, the sudden urge to howl rising within to answer the call of that great beautiful night-candle.  All three of the males sang with gusto, a proclamation of the coming dreams they hoped would not haunt them.  But the moon started moving across the sky, much too fast to be just a moon.  Something smelled strange in the air, as Father felt a new fear awaken in him.

==========

	WHAT PITIFUL LITTLE WORLDS.
A voice boomed across the stars as every creature heard a rumbling quake.
SUCH EMBERS COULD NEVER SPARK TO A FLAME.
FEAR NOT.  I SHAN'T LET THIS UNIVERSE SUFFER YOUR IGNORANCE.
To all three planets, this voice was incomprehensible, a rolling typhoon that deafened their ears with the deepest roar.  The Khurkhur fell from the trees with a shrieking tumble; the Niusa stopped in their town square and fell to their knees with horror; and the Gaariik scrabbled back into their caves with screaming barks.
LET US BEGIN.  WHICH OF YOU THREE SHALL MAKE SUSTENANCE?
PERHAPS THE BIRTH OF WRETCHED GRASS-EATERS?
OR THE SPARK OF FEEBLE-MINDED SWINE?
The giant curtain swept over the three planets, sending hurricanes across their surface and making clouds zip past at the speed of sound to deafen them all.  Trees were ripped from their roots, marble houses scraped along the ground, and the desert canyon screamed from such a concentrated cyclone that it sucked families from their caves to scatter into the wastes.
	"What h-horrible sound is this?" cried Denehin of the Niusa.  "I...I-i cannot imagine-"
	"We need the far-lens," his mentor beckoned, "come, to the mountain quick!"
	"B-but, what about our scrolls?!" the grey boar shouted.
	"DAMN YOUR SCROLLS GIDIUM THIS IS MORE THAN THAT, NOW HURRY!"
Gidium scarpered close to his lover and his master, trudging themselves towards a nearby mountain where a singular building had been kept like a stone finger towards the heavens.  A large complicated set of mirrors was housed within that allowed them to properly chart the stars, at least in terms of location rather than distance.  But tonight there was nothing except the vast infinite dark, as they struggled to squint through the lens.
	"I...I have no idea what this is," said the red-furred mentor, "there are no stars, no sun, everything is gone!"
	"How can that be?!" snorted Gidium.  "It exists, it's up there, it can't just be nothing!"
	"Maybe it is so large," pondered the black pig, "that we are looking too closely."
	"It's thousands of miles in the sky, how is that possible?!"
	"Master, what if you removed some of the lens?  Would that help?"
	"Possibly," the crimson boar nodded, "alright, Gidium help me with them."
They carefully pulled some of the mirrors from their slots to reduce the magnification, before Denehin peered through the scope and his eyes widened further.  There was a strange texture just coming into view, thousands of striations that fluttered on a silent breeze in such a way, that he knew exactly what they were.
	"They...f-feathers."  He stepped back.  "They are...they're feathers."
	"What?!" his grey partner rushed over to look.  "Th-that...no, NO that's hogwash, i-it can't be!"
	"LOOK AT IT, GIDIUM!  How many birds have we studied, those are exactly feathers and nothing else!"
	"BUT THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE, THAT WOULD MEAN YOUR-"
	"ENOUGH!" their mentor put up his hands.  "It is in front of your very eyes, no matter how improbable, that is the truth."
	"So...this...is a giant bird."  The silver pig rubbed his tusks.  "The...the cave painting was...literal."
	"So what does it mean?  Is this benevolence or doom?"
	"We have to communicate, somehow," Denehin looked up, "what do birds like?"
	"Shiny things, usually?"
	"Alright...if we get these mirrors out, and put them in a position to see us, maybe it might see us!"
	"Or anger it," snarled Gidium, "what if it makes things worse?"

============

	"UKHUMANA!" shouted one of the deer.  "TASEE KINUNEE!"
	"TCHEE TCHEE!" the chieftain put up her hands.  "Entaya, nan-nan!"
	"Tekehh?!" gasped another.  "Ikkam, I-ikkam tokoh!"
	"Sya sya!" she pushed them back from the body.  "Efoh-oh."
While most of the Khurkhur had landed safely from their fall, one had broken his leg with a gasping shriek as the leader took some leaves from a pouch, then formed a tourniquet with a long stick.  She grabbed the leg and reset the bone with a hard crack that made the patient howl, before binding the knee to keep it straight.
	"Neeeya, hona," the chief patted him, "tanama, deekah, entaya vikana."
	"Tekehh, koh?!" ranted one lady.  "Entaya baTOOLAH!"
	"OH-OH!  Somah han, tchee tchee!"
She motioned them all to head into their tree-root cave, escaping the darkness for fear of potential attack as she rounded her strongest soldiers and made motions to leave the woods.  Grasping their spears and home-made slings, they covered themselves in mud to hide their scents and went through the forest in single file.  The Khurkhur kept watch for any beasts lurking in the dark, though most of them had become frightened of the sudden dark and had also gone into hiding.
The chieftain sniffed the air, but it smelt new and terrible, an odd cloying smog from the sudden stillness of the breeze.  Nothing was moving, the world stopped on its axis for a moment too long that subtly terrified the deer as they departed the woods.  The night was there but the moon was too bright, a burning midnight sun that tracked their movements.
	"Tekehh, entaya?" hissed one guard.  "Ikkam tokoh han."
	"Sya," the leader shushed, staring through her skull-hat, "toma, kuuf."
They searched across the far open plains, scanning the horizon for any clue as to this mysterious black sky.  They could hear the ruffling of giant wings from somewhere above but there was no bird to be seen, further startling them with primal fears still strong in their tribal hearts.  Then they saw something pink on the horizon, a rosy dawn twisting through the mountains afar.  Then the peaks would shatter, smashed apart by a violent force that shook the entire world and threw them to the ground.

==========

YES...YOU WILL DO NICELY.  THE SAVAGES FOR MY HUNGER.
AND THE TUSKEN FILTH FOR MY OTHER HUNGER.
Were anyone able to see him in all his splendour, they would witness Kaapaallikko as the God-Raven, a grand transcendent beast who flew across the stars and toyed with the cradles of civilisation.  His vast wings blotted out the sun that had birthed them since millennia, his enormous eye peered with cruel gleeful judgment the size of three continents, and his long beak stretched out across hundreds of stars.
But even longer was something between his legs, the giant bird thickening his vast erection that stretched like a cosmic python towards the first planet.  The world of Breeya experienced a great cataclysm, a shocking displacement when the bird-being's cock grinded against one hemisphere, parting the clouds and twisting through the highlands to smooth out a path for itself.  The Khurkhur heard the tremendous quake and ran to the most open area to avoid any landslides, whilst watching the false horizon rip the mountains apart.
	"HA-HRAAAAH!  SOKONAAA, SOKONA-OH!"
	"TCHEE!" the chieftain called.  "OTO GABBAN, SYA SYA!"
She tried to calm them as the world shook even harder, a black ripple shuddering towards them from the distant mountains that grew into a mighty crack in the earth.  The Khurkhur shrieked and jumped opposite ways, with half her group on one side as they tried to reach out to each other.  But the giant cock was already burrowing into Breeya's depths, splitting a huge gape on the other side of the world that caused a deep rumbling fear through every creature upon it.
Other tribes far away would experience the same dread, the Khurkhur briefly united by some tribal thread that united Breeya in one singular terror.  The great Kaapaallikko would drill farther into the ground, cracking through the mantle and splitting the chasm to cause a violent eruption that blackened the sky further.  Was something penetrating the land, they thought, some vast horrific titan that became the night sky?  No, not quite.
The monstrous pink snake pulled out after teasing Breeya a little, getting it nice and weakened for the true feast.  The Khurkhur watched the shaft of death reach above like a cobra with its hood, stretching its head wide with a hungry hiss.  A deeper darkness enveloped them, a fleshy mass that pulsed around their ears and swallowed the air in a gurgling groan when their planet was slipped into the pendulous god-meat.
	"HAUUU!  HAAAUUU!" the chieftain shrieked.
	"TEDEKEYYAH, NUUR NUUR!"
They started to run back home to the woods, the second veil of night swarming over their world.  They could see ginormous veins throb like bolts of lightning, a deafening heartbeat thudded into the earth and cracked the land a little wider with each pump of the cosmic organ.  The planet tilted upwards and while gravity remained in force, they felt the violent shift upset every neuron in their struggling primitive brains.  The air turned clammy and sweltering, a powerful scent pervaded the world of a rich godly aroma.

=========

On the fifth unnamed planet, the Gaariik were running home with their goat carcasses before the wing-storm had come.  The canyon shrieked with a vicious roar as Father huddled close to Mother, who licked all over his face and whimpered in fright at the vicious gales.  First and Second bunkered down in a side room with tails between their legs, whilst the family leader kept close to the cave entrance and tried to peer at the strange occurrence.
Unlike their neighbours two orbits away, they would not suffer a new form of earthly despair yet.  Instead the mother was shrieking and pointing at the sky, snapping her jaws in horror until the father snapped at her to be quiet.  He ordered First to join him and investigate, as they grabbed the edge of their cave entrance to watch the rolling clouds scream through the sky.  The world was shifting in a way they all felt deep in their souls, something terrifying was occurring and they lacked the intelligence to comprehend it.
They knew nothing of the stars nor what the moon truly was, that beloved light now gone from their sight as they howled and whimpered in a constant panic.  The half-feral tribe clutched their faces and shivered with fright, but Father steadied his nerve and ordered his son to follow him up the cliff once the wind had settled, whilst Second stayed behind to protect Mother.
As they scurried up the rocky wall, they watched the stars reappear in the night sky when the black curtain swept past their eyes.  The sun was there once again, a welcome relief with its blessed light that soaked through their fur.  Then it grew hotter, the dogs started to pant with a huffing snort and looked to each other confused, the light growing larger and their shadows turning longer.  Even they knew not to stare at the sun, but for some reason it was becoming harder to avoid its growing gaze.
Father ordered his son to return to the cave, as they dove back down to the darkest, coldest pit within their home and beckoned his wife and other son to join them.  They bunkered down and waited for the heat to pass, the rising swell of something looming above their heads, a wretched thickening smog of invisible pressure that crushed their heads and choked their primitive brains.  It was getting hotter, their fur was shedding faster and their eyes pulsed in confusion.

===========

On the world of Makrin, the boars organised themselves to compose several lens together to form a single question.  Something that would strike hesitation, something that forced an intelligent creature to stop and think for a moment, the town council agreeing to have the whole town help with as many shiny things as possible to hoist them up the mountain.  Despite their newly-developed culture, the Niusa had strong backs and legs able to carry the largest plates, lugging them up the well-carved stone path to Mt. Guures to then form them into a single letter.
	"Are you certain this will work?" asked Denehin.
	"We have no other means," his mentor shook his head, "let us hope it understands us?"
	"And if not?" Gidium snorted.
	"Then we pray.  But since this was the first word ever uttered by the Niusa, surely any creature of such intelligence would understand that question.  ALRIGHT, everyone cast its reflection towards the false moon, wiggle it sharp at 45 degrees!"
	"Wiggle?!"
	"No time to be technical, come on!"
They angled the lens to shine towards the great entity, catching its gaze with the tiniest flicker as Kaappallikko turned its head towards them.  The long beak swept over their clouds, a whooshing scythe that would sever the thread of their existence as the monstrosity saw their single question, framed as a giant rune.
WHY?
	"Yes, yes it saw us!" gasped the red-furred pig.
	"Normally that's not a good thing," the silver pig shook his head, "traditionally we want to hide from predators."
	"But this one must know us.  It has to have seen us, why else would it come?!"
Their answer came shortly as something loomed from the horizon, more wretched scythes that stretched over the land with deep shadows that terrified the populace.  Other cities had seen this great horror, and they were all clamouring with their own suggestions for how to appease or understand.  But Kaappallikko would respond with its ginormous talon, gouging the earth beside their home and with the greatest of care, carved out a simple word in their own language.
	"YES, YES IT'S RESPONDING!" Denehin whooped.  "It's working!"
	"Hold," his mentor patted him, "let us see its response first."
The world held its breath and watched, at least from one tall mountain where the nearby town had gathered.  A tremendous quake rumbled through Makrin, the gouging claws of the raven forming lines that took five minutes to complete, and soon brought fear to each one of the Niusa.
HUNGER
	"Wha...wh-what?" Gidium trembled.  "Wh-what does it mean?!"
	"It...it is a predator," his master shivered, "it knows what we are.  We are its food."
	"BUT, BUT THIS IS OUR WORLD, OUR HOME, O-OUR ENTIRE-"
	"Gidium.  Go to your sister, or stay here.  I fear that, if what it says is true then we...we have nothing left."
The words of their mentor chilled their hearts, as the boars started to wail and clutch their faces with the coming end.  Kaappallikko pulled back his great and terrible beak, and consumed the sky with its rich, yawning maw and a pendulous tongue that licked across the southern hemisphere.  Entire continents were slurped up with towns and cities smeared across his tongue, the planet itself scooped out of orbit to make the entire world shudder in dread.
The boars screamed as they scrabbled down the mountain, falling from the earthquake to crack their skulls and splinter their legs on the sharp rocks.  Denehin and Gidium grabbed each other as their mentor held them fast, shaking his head to tell them there was no hope.  The darkness consumed them, the beak slipped over the north and south polar ice caps, the tingling frost adding a nice flavour when the great bird tipped its head back, and swallowed Makrin whole.
The hog-folk screamed as they were trapped in eternal darkness, tumbling through the deity's gullet as gravity struggled to keep hold.  Everything rolled upside down despite the Niusa remaining on land, a violent inertia twisting their minds when the world was squished tight in a muscular hug, pushing down further to the depths of the raven's stomach.
They were never heard from again, their last screams deafened by a singular gulp that echoed across the universe.  In the belly of the god, they felt the sloshing churn of a tsunami, a cosmic wrath of digestive fury that bubbled and popped across ancient cities.  Charring acid melted through marble structures, cleansing existence of their pathetic attempts to a culture with decades of philosophy soon wiped.  The pigs screamed in a drowning ocean, their fur stripped clean and their bones melting away til not a shred of their remains would be left.
Kaappallikko shuddered with a gleeful caw, as the world of Makrin crumbled into his gut and a few thousand years of would-be civilisation was snuffed out in minutes, the planet's hard mantle and burning metal core soon reduced to a molten puddle fizzed out of existence.  But that wasn't the only planet his body was feasting.

Breeya had been swallowed up by the massive deity's cock, a titanic worm that sucked down the world through its pendulous tube.  The Khurkhur had once dreamt of this, somewhere deep in their ancestral past that had once become sensitive to the thunderous wings of Kaappallikko, the drums that beat across the universe.
All of the deer-folk trembled together, gasping in horror at the new darkness embracing their home with a deafening pulse of thick torpid muscle.  The continents shifted with a hard squeeze, forcing them upwards to the point of crushing them together, forming mountains ever higher against the stratosphere.  Those unfortunate enough to be on the plains would watch the rising peaks before they crumbled apart, crackling like egg shells to scatter quakes the world over.
Slowly Breeya would shatter as it tumbled down into the raven's cockbase, a large orb disappearing beneath the flesh and from all existence.  In the depths of the god-bird's body, a vast boiling ocean consumed half the planet which soon bobbed through the rolling waves of hot milk.  The Khurkhur would be assaulted by harrowing demons of white, crawling serpents that tore through the earth and left ridges in their wake.
The grand magnificent sperm ripped through the forests and burrowed into the ground, twisting their powerful tails ever deeper into the heart of this once-sullied world.  The purification had begun once the semen raped through the earth's centre, stabbing it from every angle like a stone egg, waiting to birth the end of everything.
The chieftain had no words as she watched the world erupt, as trees cracked apart and fell into newly-awakened molten rivers, when magma spewed across the plains and covered them in roaring bloody crimson that sizzled to ghastly black.  Deathly vapours wrapped around the atmosphere, smogging the sky even further as one ginormous sperm crashed through the chieftain's home, mangling her beloved her tribe as ribs were crushed and limbs were severed to become red little stains across the walls.
Her last act of defiance was to smash a pot of burning spices across one sperm cell's head, but all it did was barrel through her and crunch her body into paste.  Her screams were lost amidst the destruction of her world, as tectonic plates separated from the ripped and mangled core, to drift in bubbling soup and be melted within the pale sea.
WONDERFUL...ANOTHER WORTHLESS RACE FREED FROM EXISTING.
NOW YOU SHALL SERVE A BETTER PURPOSE, AS MY PUREST OF SEED.

The last world he graced would be that of the Gaariik, his massive wing cradling the uncivilised realm of wretched mongrels and pushing it towards the sun.  It was one of his favourite pastimes to watch a planet burn away, devoured by its own lifegiver in a delicious irony.  The god-bird savoured Makrin in his belly, and the churning gloop of Breeya in his sceptre that sputtered a rich milky way through the stars.
As he watched the unnamed planet approach the flaming sphere, the glorious Kaappallikko reached up with one foot to stroke himself.  His long black talons pumped with expert precision, feeling along the bulging veins and sputtering out the dust of Breeya back into the abyss.  With a mighty caw he felt his staff thicken towards orgasm, the scent of deprivation always exciting him the most as his deified senses could hear the screams of thousands.
The Gaariik started to burn to ashes, even in their own homes as their fur ignited and their eyes popped with shrieking melt.  They clutched their faces with dripping claws and turned even more savage with agony, fighting each other out of mindless desperation as mothers foughts sons and daughters were killed by fathers.  Father himself ended up beneath his son, as First screamed with a frenzy and struggled to claw at his face.
The sun grew wider above them and cracked the land even harder, as the last thing their family knew was an endless suffering at their own hands.  Father plunged his claws into his firstborn's throat, screaming in fury before his body was set alight, and his world was soon devoured in flames.  High above Kaappalikko watched, pumping himself over their genocide as he came with a screeching caw, sending a rich stream of white seed across the system, where rippling fragments of Breeya were scattered within.
The tiniest fragments of bone could be found within, the Khurkhur's traces soon cast to eternity.  The raven watched the unnamed planet melt completely, gurgling with a hissing pop as the Gaariik were fully erased in turn.  Kaappallikko sighed at his meal, his cock sputtering empty to leave a long trace of wispy milk swirling around the sun.
IN SHORT TIME, MY SEED WILL SUCCEED YOU.
A BETTER SIGHT TO THIS HOLLOW REALM, THAN YOU COULD EVER BE.
The deity would depart, his cleansing complete to leave a system silent.  The cycle would begin again, another two billion years until any semblance of civilisation could begin from his glorious semen.