The silence of space after Planet Zoma's annihilation was profound, broken only by the faint hum of nascent energy. Stark, the dying king, floated, adrift and broken, his eyes fixed on the impossible miracle before him. The humanoid Zoma, born from the very essence of his lost world, pulsed with a pure, unblemished light. An inexplicable, almost primal pull drew him towards her. It was a desperate instinct for connection, for something to endure beyond the cataclysm.

In that timeless void, a raw, instinctive fusion occurred. Their forms intertwined, not with a violent clash, but a luminous merging. Light exploded again, enveloping them both in a blinding cocoon. From their shared essence, a new entity was born: Nel.
But Nel was not prepared for existence. She was a being of immense, unbridled power, yet utterly overwhelmed by her sudden creation. The fusion of two distinct beings - Stark's ancient wisdom and terminal grief, Zoma's nascent purity and the echoing horror of her birth - was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and raw, untamed energy. The immense power, the confusion, the lingering terror of Plaguas's shadow, and the planet's destruction - it was all too much. In a chaotic surge of self-preservation and profound fear, Nel was sealed away. With a shuddering ripple in the fabric of reality, she vanished from the immediate universe, a terrified being seeking oblivion from her own overwhelming, terrifying birth.
Years passed, perhaps centuries, in the timeless expanse where Nel was sealed. Isolated and adrift in her consciousness, she wrestled with her very identity. Her fractured mind, fragmented by the trauma of her creation, began to conceive of an ideal. She yearned for a "perfect" being, one who could embody acceptance and exist without the crippling fear of her power. In a desperate, solitary act of will, Nel found a way. She disentangled herself, not by unfusing from Stark and Zoma, but by replicating a separate, distinct form from their combined essence, a carbon copy born of her yearning for perfection. This new entity, a twisted reflection of the nascent purity she craved, was Sukram - Markus spelled backward, a subtle omen of their destined conflict and her internal turmoil.
Meanwhile, back in the cold, indifferent vacuum of space, Stark lingered on the precipice of true death. His physical form, battered and depleted, was giving out. The vastness of space, usually a source of awe, was now a silent, suffocating tomb. It was then that Zoma, the humanoid essence of his planet, stirred within his fading consciousness. She sensed his imminent demise, felt the very fabric of their shared energy unraveling.
Driven by an unspoken instinct for preservation, for continuity, for something to endure beyond the cataclysm, Zoma reached out. A second fusion, a more gentle, deliberate intertwining than the first, occurred. Their dying energies merged, not into Nel this time, but into a new, innocent soul. This soul possessed a delicate balance, a harmonious blend of king and planet, untainted by the chaos that had birthed its twin.
This new soul plummeted through the cosmic dust, drawn by an invisible force, hurtling towards a distant blue-green orb. Its name, whispered through the echoes of the universe, was Markus. He was born into profound naivety, utterly unaware of his celestial origins, or the fact that he was the second, more balanced fusion of a king and a planet. He was a blank slate, destined for a new world, oblivious to the terrifying legacy that trailed him.
Unbeknownst to him, far from where he now sped towards a new world, Plaguas was not truly gone. The cataclysmic spell had merely shattered him, his monstrous essence scattered but not obliterated. Like a malignant seed, he was now, silently, inevitably, reforming. He was already moving towards Earth, drawn by its vibrant life, ready to complete the destruction he had begun so long ago.