Stony eyes showed neither satisfaction nor disappointment. As it was, with Galactus. The Hunger nagged at the back of his, a nagging which would have been an uncontrollable burning desire had it been translated to the small minds of mortals. But to Galactus, it was as nothing, deserving only a small amount of his attention. For now. Eventually, he would have to draw himself away and intrude on a small chamber in the back of his vessel, the chamber which held the man called Hyperstorm. Finally, thanks to that mere mortal, Galactus could at last sate his eternal Hunger at his leisure.

The being once called Galan slowly turned and strode away from the gaping viewport, other matters occupying his attention. Ever since he had found his way out of Hyperspace, something had seemed...wrong. He was different, somehow, in a way he had not yet ascertained. All he knew was that the slight changes he had made to his appearance were the least of what had been altered about him. Despite being so far above mortal station, pink had been an unseemly color for the Third Force in the Universe to appear in. White was a far more regal and controlled color.

Suddenly he was wracked with a great pain. Clutching his helmeted head, he staggered, but quickly regained his balance. Something had happened. The Living Tribunal was dead. Only such a momentous event could affect him so.

Where once his face had been unreadable, it was now cold determination. He would discover what happened, and why. And prepare for the inevitable events to come. Any being who could do away with an entity such as the Living Tribunal was a threat to his reality. A threat he would see banished at all costs.

Uatu stood on the cold surface of the Moon, footprints in the dust behind him. He looked out at the shining globe he had once watched. But he was a Watcher no longer. And yet, something still compelled him to gaze upon the planet earth. Perhaps it was that small spark in humanity that he'd sensed so long ago, when he'd first taken up what he'd once thought was his eternal calling.

The former Watcher's reverie was broken by pain, which burned him to his very bones. Never had it happened before, but he still knew what it signalled. The Living Tribunal, at least that reality's manifestation of him, was dead, destroyed by some unknown hand. Only such a grave act could bring on what he now felt.

Shaking off the palpable dread, he rounded and headed back for his citadel. Whoever had struck down the Living Tribunal must be malevolent indeed, and fearsomely powerful. Whatever it was, surely this reality would not be spared its gaze.

Uatu shuddered, and it was not because of the cold.

Arishem looked up from his non-too tender ministrations of the seething planet below, lowering the hand that possessed the equation to destroy worlds. Far above, even mighty and aloof Exitar paused in his grim duty.

And so it went, all across reality, and across all the realms attached. The trumpets in Asgard sounded in mourning while the lost souls in the Hall of Death screamed. Mephisto smiled, while Scrier, deep in his secret abodes, was grim. The Stranger stopped his work only for a moment, as did the Grandmaster only halt his endless games for a comparable span. Epoch shook his great head in dismay and Master Hate and Mistress reacted with anger, and with sorrow. Lord Chaos and Master Order were shocked, the deed having occured in their realm.