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CoinbaseNFT Avatar: #00003 Sater - The Soul Devourer
The Curse of the Devoured Egg
From hunger to horror. Deep in the heart of an uncharted jungle, where ancient trees stretched toward the heavens and the air hummed with unseen life, a creature wandered. It was no ordinary beast a reptilian warrior, tall and powerful, with scales that glistened like polished obsidian and eyes that burned with a primal hunger.
Its name had been lost to time. It hunted, survived, and ruled the forest with claw and fang. But hunger gnawed at it like a relentless parasite. Prey had grown scarce, and the creature grew desperate.
One day, while stalking through a crumbled ruin overtaken by vines, it discovered something unusual: an egg, pulsing faintly with an eerie glow. The shell shimmered like a black opal, veined with threads of molten gold. It radiated warmth, beating like a heart.
But the creature didn’t care. It was starving. Without hesitation, it cracked the egg open and devoured its contents, its hunger momentarily sated. But satisfaction was fleeting. Because something inside the egg had been alive. Something ancient. Something waiting.
The Transformation
The change began that night. The creature’s body twisted in agony, bones cracking, wings ripping from its back like unfurling shadows. Horns coiled from its skull, and its flesh burned as scales hardened into armor. It roared in torment, echoing through the jungle, as dark magic reshaped it into something monstrous.
It had not consumed an ordinary egg — but the unborn offspring of a forgotten dragon god. And now, that god’s power fused with the creature’s essence, warping it into a vessel of destruction. The hunger returned, fiercer than ever. But now, it craved more than meat. It hungered for souls.
The Rise of the Jungle Tyrant
The creature became a predator unlike any other. It stalked the canopy with wings that blotted out the sun, hunting not just for survival but for the sheer joy of the hunt. It decimated entire ecosystems, draining life from everything it touched. The jungle whispered its name in fear Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry.Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry.Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry. Sater, the Soul Devourer.
Legends spread of the beast, a dark guardian born from greed and cursed by forbidden magic. It ruled the jungle as a twisted king, an apex predator bound to an endless cycle of hunger. And somewhere, beneath the roots of the oldest tree, a clutch of eggs pulsed softly with light. Waiting.
From hunger to horror. Deep in the heart of an uncharted jungle, where ancient trees stretched toward the heavens and the air hummed with unseen life, a creature wandered. It was no ordinary beast a reptilian warrior, tall and powerful, with scales that glistened like polished obsidian and eyes that burned with a primal hunger.
Its name had been lost to time. It hunted, survived, and ruled the forest with claw and fang. But hunger gnawed at it like a relentless parasite. Prey had grown scarce, and the creature grew desperate.
One day, while stalking through a crumbled ruin overtaken by vines, it discovered something unusual: an egg, pulsing faintly with an eerie glow. The shell shimmered like a black opal, veined with threads of molten gold. It radiated warmth, beating like a heart.
But the creature didn’t care. It was starving. Without hesitation, it cracked the egg open and devoured its contents, its hunger momentarily sated. But satisfaction was fleeting. Because something inside the egg had been alive. Something ancient. Something waiting.
The Transformation
The change began that night. The creature’s body twisted in agony, bones cracking, wings ripping from its back like unfurling shadows. Horns coiled from its skull, and its flesh burned as scales hardened into armor. It roared in torment, echoing through the jungle, as dark magic reshaped it into something monstrous.
It had not consumed an ordinary egg — but the unborn offspring of a forgotten dragon god. And now, that god’s power fused with the creature’s essence, warping it into a vessel of destruction. The hunger returned, fiercer than ever. But now, it craved more than meat. It hungered for souls.
The Rise of the Jungle Tyrant
The creature became a predator unlike any other. It stalked the canopy with wings that blotted out the sun, hunting not just for survival but for the sheer joy of the hunt. It decimated entire ecosystems, draining life from everything it touched. The jungle whispered its name in fear Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry.Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry.Doomsday: The Beast That Conquered Death
The first time he died, he was reborn in fire. The scientists of Karnoth Prime thought they could create perfection a living weapon that feared nothing, felt nothing and killed everything. They crafted him from tortured flesh and shattered bone, molding a creature whose body could evolve past its every defeat. They named him Doomsday. He didn’t care for names.
The first time he opened his eyes, he crushed his creators with his bare hands. Their blood painted the lab walls as he ripped through steel and concrete, his claws tearing through barriers like paper. The guards fired round after round into his chest, but he only grew stronger, his body learning from each bullet. By the time he reached the surface, he was unstoppable. A walking apocalypse.
The Endless War
He rampaged across the galaxy like a plague. Planets fell in days. Armies were annihilated in hours. Entire species were wiped from existence in the span of a breath. His spiked body was a fortress of living death, constantly regenerating, constantly adapting.
When the warriors of Vel’Thar severed his limbs, he regrew them, the new limbs harder, sharper, more lethal. When the war mages of Solari Prime burned him with starfire, his skin blackened and hardened, becoming resistant to the heat of suns.
Death only made him stronger. His every scream of agony became a roar of rebirth. And he never forgot. He carried the memory of every wound, every broken bone, every dismemberment. His body adapted not out of instinct, but out of hatred. A primal, endless rage against existence itself. He didn’t want to rule. He didn’t want to conquer. He just wanted to destroy.
The Final Stand
The last remnants of the galaxy made their final stand on a dying world called Aurelia. They poured all their power, all their might, into a single desperate strike a reality-shattering weapon forged from the heart of a collapsing star.
They lured Doomsday into the weapon’s core, detonating it with enough force to erase the planet from reality. For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the universe exhaled. But then, from the wreckage, something moved.
A silhouette, charred and molten, dragging itself from the debris. His body, blistered and broken, pulsed with new life. His spikes had grown longer, black as night and glistening like obsidian. His eyes burned like dying suns and his roar echoed through the void like a death knell for all creation. Doomsday didn’t die. He never died. He just came back angrier. And he was still hungry. Sater, the Soul Devourer.
Legends spread of the beast, a dark guardian born from greed and cursed by forbidden magic. It ruled the jungle as a twisted king, an apex predator bound to an endless cycle of hunger. And somewhere, beneath the roots of the oldest tree, a clutch of eggs pulsed softly with light. Waiting.