After my first conversation with Chthon, I did not rush into conquest.
I calculated.
If I could fully awaken the power sleeping within me—if I could completely unfold the divine resonance inherited from Azathoth—then I would not merely be an Elder God.
I would be something above them.
A Supreme God.
Not equal.
Above.
Azathoth's divine nature was not simply chaos. It was primordial origin. The potential to unmake and remake existence itself. And that potential was fused into my being—not dominant, not overwhelming, but present.
If I awakened it completely, and layered it with my own divinity as a child of the Demiurge, I would transcend the hierarchy of Earth's Elder Gods entirely.
If I failed?
Then I would still be powerful. Comparable, perhaps, to the original ancient gods who would one day rule myth and legend.
That was acceptable.
Because I had time.
Millions of years.
Billions, if necessary.
I remained in my projection form while I worked.
My true form—towering, colossal, vast beyond mortal comprehension—was powerful, yes. In that state, I felt closer to raw divinity. But maneuvering through dimensions while taller than mountains was… inconvenient.
This smaller form was elegant. Controlled. Precise.
It allowed subtlety.
And subtlety wins wars before they begin.
Twelve Thousand Years Later
Time blurred.
Twelve thousand years passed like an extended breath.
In that span, I studied dark magic relentlessly. Not books—there were none. Not teachers—there were none beyond Chthon, and even he explored separately.
We were inventing magic.
Shaping its foundations.
Where Oshtur leaned toward balance and order, Chthon pursued corruption and domination.
I pursued understanding.
Dark magic was not evil.
Chaos was not destruction.
They were forces.
And I learned to weave them together.
During one meditation that lasted nearly three centuries, something shifted within me.
A pressure.
A resonance.
Then awakening.
A second divinity ignited.
Chaos.
Not merely influence—but authority.
Chaos magic bent around me instinctively. Reality did not resist my warping anymore; it flowed. Creation itself became easier, smoother, less effortful. My reality-warping capabilities expanded dramatically. My control refined from planetary disturbances to precise structural manipulation.
I could:
Rewrite localized physical laws.
Manifest constructs that persisted independently.
Seed conceptual ideas into the fabric of existence.
My creation powers strengthened.
My Darkforce manipulation deepened.
My telepathic range extended beyond Earth's sphere.
Even my immortality evolved—my essence now anchored across multiple dimensional layers simultaneously. Destroying me would require annihilating more than just form.
All my abilities ascended to a new tier.
And yet—
Humans still did not exist.
Earth cooled.
Oceans formed.
Life stirred in primitive shapes.
But there were no minds yet worthy of true experimentation. No civilizations to influence. No dreams to twist.
It was… mildly disappointing.
I stood at the edge of my dimension, observing the planet's slow biological evolution.
"I am still early," I murmured to myself.
One hundred fifty years had been infancy.
Now I was over twelve thousand years old.
Still young.
Still growing.
Still far from my ceiling.
But I could feel it now—the distant horizon of what I might become. The path toward Supreme Godhood was no longer theoretical.
It was possible.
Azathoth's potential slept deeper within me still. I had only awakened a fraction. But each divinity I unlocked brought me closer to that distant apex.
One day, I might rival the original cosmic architects.
One day, even the Elder Gods might look at me with caution.
But not yet.
For now, I refine.
I observe.
I calculate.
And I wait for mortals to emerge.
Because when humanity finally opens its eyes…
I will be ready.