𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘚

As the silent, unsuspecting expanse of our solar system is violently breached by the Iris, an ancient and ravenous cosmic parasite, the familiar laws of astrophysics collapse into an existential nightmare where gravity is entirely supplanted by a suffocating, predatory hunger; Neptune, the outermost guardian of our celestial family, is the first to fall, his majestic sapphire atmosphere of ice and gas being brutally sloughed away like necrotic skin to expose a weeping, labyrinthine infrastructure of pulsing muscle fibers, exposed capillaries, and a colossal, obsidian eye that blinks against the void, transforming the giant into a paralyzed, flesh-woven puppet that can only watch in screaming, silent agony as his fractured planetary consciousness is hollowed out, his beloved moons are dragged into his newly opened organic maw, and the remaining sentient planets find themselves trapped like chained prisoners in their orbits, forced to witness the cosmic infection steadily crawling closer toward the inner worlds and the sun While the Sun violently erupts with defiant, blinding solar flares in a desperate cosmic crusade to incinerate the encroaching rot before it consumes the core of his domain, his innermost children remain physically uninfected but psychologically fractured, with Mercury trembling as he feels the solar winds grow erratic, Venus aggressively dismissing the danger under the cynical assumption that his toxic, acid-choked greenhouse heat will easily vaporize any parasitic interloper, Earth remaining blissfully oblivious to his impending doom as he stays entirely distracted by his bickering human microbes, and the Moon (Luna) suffering from a profound, sickening anxiety as he stares into the void and senses a distant, mocking blink that Earth stubbornly ignores; meanwhile, the middle solar system stands paralyzed in defensive dread, with Mars sweating beneath his tough facade as flesh-like asteroids begin to pollute the asteroid belt