The ten were brought forth in iron manacles, their sides pierced by iron rods as their gaolers forced them along. These few were among the only ones taken alive during the Mandalorian's ill-fated incursion into the Malsheem, disarmed and restrained by the agents of the Dark Lord. They'd been stripped of their armor, subjected to an intense and invasive bio-scan, and methodically interrogated by both mind flayer and mind probe. Some were utterly catatonic, hardly capable of walking forward. These had to be more encouraged than the others, their naked flesh bearing the scars and burns of their tormentor's instruments.
Time lost all meaning to them, they couldn't comprehend how long it had been since they were taken. Nor could they comprehend where it was they were, all the corridors looked exactly the same. Only their captors seemed to possess some intrinsic navigation of their surroundings, never once having to hesitate or backtrack. They rarely saw another living being either, besides the cybernetic mongrels which loped through the halls on some unknowable mission, their grotesque, malformed shapes lumbering through the barely illuminated gloom.
Ahead was a large metal door, thrice-reinforced and guarded by a segmented ray shield wall that withdrew as they approached. One of the gaolers inserted a code cylinder into the door frame, which seemed to unlock it. Beyond was not what the Mandalorian captives were expected, for their minds could barely even drink it all in. Beyond was an endless waste, stretching out far beyond the distant horizon. Above was no natural sky, but a mirrored reflection of the wastes below, with twisting corkscrew spirals connecting the two planes together.
Yet, as they were marched out into the wastes, they would find that their journey thus far had still taken place within the Malsheem. It's metal walls seemed to meld into the wasteland itself, eventually losing all distinction the farther one strayed from the doorway. It was only upon closer inspection that they would come to discover that the ground beneath their feet was not ground at all, but rather a single compacted mass of scarified flesh. All the world around them was made of flesh, sinew, and bone. The gaolers only went out ten meters before silently drawing back towards the door, their weapons trained on the prisoners until the door closed with shuddering finality.
All before them was monstrous horror, as was all behind and to their sides. The impossibility of this waste loomed large, for how could such a nightmare existing within the finite walls of the Malsheem? There was more at work here, but their minds were too battered by hunger, thirst, and pain to analyze anything other than sheer terror. All of them had expected to be killed by the Sith once their use had come and gone, and they all believed they were being herded towards an execution when the gaolers came for them.
But this?
What was this?
A dark delirium descended upon them as they wandered aimlessly, losing their slowest and weakest members one by one. One second they were there, and another they were gone. They had not seen what took them, and nothing remained to mark they had ever been. Perhaps they hadn't. A frightful voice whispered darkness into their ears with every step, one that spoke of gruesome delights -- an all-encompassing hunger. When the next of their number perished, they actually managed to see it happen. The fleshy ground beneath him split apart, revealing endless rows of square, wine-colored teeth, lashing tongues, and gangly emaciated arms. He was dragged in without a sound, the Mandalorian's face one of resignation and relief, drawn deep into the cavernous maw which closed as quickly as it had opened.
Soon the others would fall, until one remained. He wandered forward, feet bloodied by fields of sharpened bone. He would not surrender to the whispers crawling around behind his eyes, he'd seen what happened to the others. He dared to not take a moment's rest, for at any moment he could be swallowed by the flesh beneath him. But all he did was prolong the inevitable, his body could not sustain this. Hunger gnawed at his belly, had the others left bodies behind he would have resorted to eating them if he could. But there was nothing, not even the flesh beneath his feet would provide sustenance. It was calcified like rock, impossible to break with his bare hands.
So as he knelt there, clawing uselessly at the ground, the maw began to open all around him. Falling back on his haunches, he finally relinquished himself to the voice in his head. The teeth enclosed about him, the tongues constricting his limbs, and he finally allowed the tension to leave his body. Even as his feet were ground up, teeth gnashing up along his legs, he did not feel pain nor panic. A calm serenity enveloped him in it's warm embrace, and he at last knew peace. All that he had been before no longer mattered, there was only the hunger now. He would become one with the hunger, and it would become one with him.
The voice soothed him, coaxed him deeper into the whirring maw, and as the last light from above was snuffed out he finally learned the name of the one who had delivered him to this unequaled bliss.
Voracitos.
