It's size defied comprehension.
Out of all the stations in the known galaxy nothing even came close to the creation known by all as Malsheem. As dark armored guardsman led Zachariah through, he would bear witness to the many awe-inspiring sights. Vast sprawling cityscapes stretching past the horizon, bending with the circular design of the worldcraft. All around moved railcrawlers as wide as plazas in the largest cities, innumerable legions of soldiers marched along boulevards wide enough to park flotillas of star destroyers, each and every one in perfect sync with one another. To bear witness to it all it was a force so vast that all hope died when the very eyes drank in their presence.
It was deep in the center that a colossal monument beginning from the deepest pit to as far above as the eye could see, a spire of obsidian crystal. It radiated the Dark Side like a firestorm, a vast hurricane without end. The entrance to the structure was so massively wide it stood like the great maw of a towering monster as he approached. The halls within grew narrower as they went differing widely from the metallic gray outside, they stood as walls of pitch-black marble, highly polished to an obscene degree, each hall covered with busts of great Dark Lords of old, tapestries covering the walls next to murals of historic battles and moments from both Sith origin and others of unknown origin.
The youth was deposited into a large room the size of a banquet hall, a massive hearth stood on one end of the room topped with relics while a vast banquet table dominated the center. The head of the table held a throne of jagged black obsidian. The only light within the chamber came from the roaring fire, burning with molten fury casting haunting shapes across the walls. The beauty of the chamber was drowned beneath the immeasurable darkness within, a presence so dark it forced the fires light back and suppressed much of its might beneath it, dimming the brightness in the room to a tense twilight. The shadows across the walls came alive and stretched outwards into wispy clouds of misty blackness, churning like tidal waves.
"Zachariah Conway." A booming voice rang out directionless amongst the shadows of the room. When the youth looked deeper it was clear something had materialized into the throne, the Undying King Darth Prazutis, Dark Lord of the Sith, Shadow Hand of the Kainate, and Elysian Grandeval Mortarch. A regal uniform outfitted with a high collar of black iron was fitted to His supremely muscular physique. A lightsaber sat clasped to His waist radiating fell power like the pulsing beat of a heart. "Darth Latens. I was intrigued by the message I received from you." The molten orbs of His eyes stared through him, as if everything was being stripped bare for His examination, all secrets brought to the surface.
A chair slid out from the table without any gesture. The table was full of a variety of drinks from a hundred different civilizations, the greatest, rarest decanturs full of a multicolored spread of rich liquids of varying spirits. "Have a drink." A powerful aura of dark, sadistic regality radiated out from every inch of His form.