At this time, Köflõяtæț was approaching the third planet from the star locally known as Sol. He had taken his Vēēēñåkøn 66613-4 GalaxyKiller, the fastest, most powerful, most destructive, most dreaded fightercraft in the known universe, which had shielding that could withstand the force of a supernova, and lasers that could cut holes in the fabric of the cosmos itself, and rockets that could do 30 times the speed of light—a spaceship that the gods cowered in paralyzed terror of!!
He was brought his ship in closer, vaporizing asteroids that got in his way. He flew towards that small bluish-green planet with a look of fire in his eyes and a hunger for blood on his chops, which he licked with delight at the thought of another opportunity for space combat. He had to press activate the Mèlçækkenen cooling technology within his gloves to counter the sweat on his palms as he excitedly contemplated with consternation the thought of retrieving the princess of the Intergalactic Empire, restoring her to the throne, and overtaking all those puny little creatures who overthrew his empire.
At this time, Köflõяtæț, who hailed from a planet whose name can only be pronounced as a bloodthirsty war cry at midnight, shot past the single large moon of that planet, approaching the large, green landmass which his decaying Master had said the princess resided upon. Just for because he could, he blew a satellite out of the sky, causing it to fall from the heavens towards Earth like lightning as it burned up in the planet’s atmosphere, cutting off somebody’s ESPN until Dish500 could get another satellite up, restoring the sports fan’s connection.
As Köflõяtæț flew over the land of that planet, he beamed a few cows into his spaceship, and branded his empire’s symbol, a complex sequence of rings and circles, into a farm field or two on a medium sized island near a continent filled with castles, history, and a corrupt—and ultimately unworkable—economic and political union.