The maggots cover his own arms now.

That has to be an illusion. An illusion makes way more sense than teleporting evil things who can cover him in maggots but not anything else.

He teleports into the nearest sun because if the maggots are real that should burn them off.

They crisp and crackle with a scent that is very reminiscent of burning human flesh. More crawl out of his pores to replace the ones that die.

He stays in the sun. He curls up and burns and cries.

He can feel the bugs slipping out of his tear ducts with the water.

He wants to check if his planets are okay but he doesn't know how, anything he made in here would burn instantly -

You cannot hide from us, little demon. Do not resist. Give yourself over now, or be destroyed.

Indestructible. Please stop doing this, it's really horrible.

Your planets, your people, they are ours now. Nothing you can do will save them.

We will take them, and remold them our image.

By their screams, the galaxy will know of our return.

And all shall quail before the might of the Dread Masters.

He is assaulted by visions. The mother whose baby he restored, screaming as it chews its way forth from her womb. The boy whose favorite lost toy he recreated, hiding under the bed weeping in terror as an animate version of it stalks around his room, cooing softly for him to come back out and play as blood drips beneath its feet. Riotous mobs tear each other apart in the streets, meaty gobbets festooning storefronts.

Probably not true probably not true and if he goes back there he'll end up killing everybody, he knows it, he can't do that aaaaaahh - 

- he leaves the sun, he can't do anything while he's in there and it's not helping -

- he conjures his mail, if anything were happening to his planets for real someone would tell him -

The words on the pages are in no language he can speak, alive and twisting and projecting a palpable hatred.

In his head, laughter mixes with screams of the dying.

Aaaaaaaaaaaah they promised to destroy him why aren't they doing that - 

- worldleaper, he can hop to another dimension - he should do that -

- he does that -

Flee where you will, you cannot outrun us-

But the words are fainter and the ghastly mirages that obscured the controls grow transparent.

- well, that's something - 

- he should've thought of it a lot faster - 

- he jumps again, in case Force stuff has an adjacency limit -

The miniature maze of severed and spiked heads on poles overlaying the controls of the worldleaper is hardly visible now.

He makes himself a planetoid. He makes himself a house. He goes inside and fills it up with Space Silmarils, thousands of them, and he collapses on the floor and cries himself to sleep.

His dreams are tinged with a faint background of horror. but nothing so strong as to cause him to wake.

He wakes. 

He curls up in a ball and shivers and - can't check his mail, adjacency limit, but he can check what his mail was at the point when he worldlept -

The standard item and healing requests.

A note from Cipher Nine asking what's wrong.

A note from Cipher Nine telling him to go to Occlus.

A note from Occlus telling him to come see her.

...okay. Okay. He can do that. He can come back if it gets bad again -

- he curls up and shivers -

 - hop hop to Occlus -

Screaming, screaming

a black cloud of fear and pain and death this person is no person at all a monster in human guise shedding it to reveal the truth of the teeth it opens its mouth to scream-

"Fëanáro. Look at me," Occlus's voice cuts through the madness, clear and calm and heavy with the weight of the Force. "Look at me."

He looks at her.

He sees her as she is. The only voice inside his head is his own.

"Is your head clearer now?"

"- yeah -"