A ginormous man, easily 12 feet tall, is holding a man much smaller than him by his hair.

"Do you not understand this? You stupid man, I hold much more than your fate in my hand." He says.

"Do your worst Char'kal! My home is safe from your forsaken planet!" The small man yells back, but the fear in his eyes is what is truly talking for him.

"Your home? You made a deal with HIM," He gestures to a mangled corpse, laying now in a runic circle. "To save your fucking HOUSE?" Char'kal throws the man into the wall behind him, "I have no patience for your games, your stupid begging for a power far greater than you, in time I will find your galaxy, regardless of how well you've hid it, then I will find your planet, and it will join mine forever."

At the end of his speech he walks over to the man, hunched over on the ground with broken ribs. He picks the man up and with a flick of his wrist, some force obliterates the man's head, splattering the matter across the floor in a beautiful arc. He then tosses the body to the middle of it and sighs. 

Sitting down next to the ritual, he takes a small knife from his bag, and with a click, he unsheathes it.

"All the time in the world to think, and I never figure out why the small lives of men are so full of wrong choices, can they not see that I'm no mere warmonger? My quest is no stupid conquest." He chuckles to himself, the absurdity of the mortals forever his favorite thought experiment.

"It's a harvest."