Galactus' Dreamer Herald Chapter 2.

Chapter 2: The Apokalips.

(Dreamer's P.O.V)

The following night, sleep takes me faster than it should. One moment I’m lying in bed, headphones hissing white noise, the next—

Crack.

The sound is sharp enough to snap me into dream-awareness before I can even take in where I am. The air is thick with heat, the reek of sweat, death, and unwashed bodies pressing in from all sides.

A whip cuts the air again, close to my ear.

I’m standing in a ragged line of slaves, all of us half-bent under the weight of whatever we’re carrying. Around us loom figures—tall, insectoid, armor-clad. Parademons.

And ahead, burning like a wound in the ground, is a massive fire pit.

I know this place. I’ve been here before, though never like this. Apokolips. The world of the New Gods. The throne of Darkseid.

Another whip crack. The Parademon nearest me snarls something guttural. The lash bites into my back. It should hurt. It doesn’t. Not with the Power Cosmic humming under my skin.

Galactus’s “gift.”

I’d spent the entire day before trying to control it, keeping it folded in on itself, locked down to the barest hum of strength and speed. Enough to be useful, but not enough to risk opening a way for Galactus into the waking world. Tonight, it feels solid, steady—ready.

A third whip crack.

This time I move. My hand closes around the length of the weapon, yanking the Parademon forward. It stumbles, off balance, and I carve it in half with nothing but a flat sweep of my arm. Flesh, armor, and bone fall away like cut paper.

The alarm begins at once—a grinding mechanical scream.

The slave line dissolves into chaos. More Parademons drop from the sky. I straighten, rolling my shoulders, and exhale.

“Time to get to work.”

I move through them like they’re nothing. One blow here, a crushing kick there—each impact lit by a flicker of violet light. Thousands fall. The ground is slick with the remains of soldiers bred for nothing but obedience to Darkseid.

The fire pits loom ahead, their heat rolling over me in waves. I leap into the center platform, where the generals are waiting—hulking New Gods armed in crimson and gold. They come at me together, but none last more than seconds.

I kneel at the pit’s edge, extend my hands toward the roaring core, and let the Power Cosmic spill out. It burns through the air, threads of blinding light sinking into the flames.

The fire shifts. It’s not fire anymore—it’s a mouth.

Galactus rises, not as himself but as an avatar, his presence swelling through the molten heart of the planet. He doesn’t speak. He devours. The heat, the light, the molten rock—it all flows upward, into him.

The ground convulses under my feet.

A column of white-blue energy splits the air nearby. Darkseid steps through, Boom Tube snapping shut behind him. His eyes widen, not in anger but in something I’ve never seen from him—panic.

“What have you done?”

“I chose survival,” I say.

The planet groans. Metal mountains shear apart, falling into a vortex that wasn’t there seconds ago. The pull is relentless, dragging everything toward the fire pits.

Darkseid’s voice twists into a snarl. “Damn you, wretched slave!”

His Omega Beams ignite, red and lethal, lancing straight for me. I don’t move.

They hit. My dream-body burns, shatters, and the pull of the Narrative Dimension lets me go.

But I don’t wake in bed.

Instead, I’m standing in the cold glow of Galactus’s true presence. He’s larger now, brighter, power radiating from him in waves. His laughter shakes the void.

“Well done, Dreamer. I have never tasted anything quite like this… Omega Force.”

Twin streaks of that same Omega light burst from his eyes, zig-zagging into the distance until they strike a distant star. The star winks out.

“I’m glad you liked it,” I say, my voice steady. “But if it’s all the same, I’d like to leave.”

“Not yet,” he rumbles. “There is still the matter of your reward.”

“Reward,” I repeat.

“You may ask for anything.”

The Power Cosmic hums faintly in me, a reminder of its source. It’s potent, but it’s his. If I ever want to stand against him, I’ll need something that’s mine.

“I want Darkseid’s New God physiology,” I say. “Without the Omega Force.”

He studies me, silent. I can tell he’s weighing it—judging whether there’s a trick buried in my request.

And maybe there is.



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Soo...What Happens Next in chapter 3?