Time moved.
Continents shifted.
Ice advanced and retreated.
Life diversified.
And then—
They appeared.
Not quite human.
Not yet thinkers of philosophy or builders of cities.
But close.
Early members of Homo habilis stirred across the African plains. Their minds were crude. Flickering. Barely self-aware in the way true humanity would one day be.
They could not yet worship.
They could not yet comprehend divinity.
But they could dream.
And dreams were enough.
From within my vast dimension, I extended my awareness into their fragile sleeping minds.
I did not appear in my true form.
That would shatter them.
Instead, I whispered.
Simple things at first.
How to sharpen stone more efficiently.
How to preserve food.
How to track prey.
The concept of planting seeds intentionally.
Tiny nudges.
Not enough to create civilization overnight.
But enough to accelerate development.
I did not want humanity stagnant.
I wanted them to rise.
Because intelligent mortals are far more useful than beasts.
Meanwhile, my mastery of dark magic continued to ascend.
Over hundreds of thousands of years, my understanding became… absolute.
I surpassed experimentation.
I surpassed innovation.
I achieved refinement.
Even Chthon — once my closest peer in dark sorcery — now felt comparatively limited.
He was brilliant.
But he was emotional.
His magic was potent, but messy.
Mine?
Architectural.
Precise.
Layered with chaos divinity and Azathoth resonance.
When Chthon inscribed his knowledge into indestructible scrolls—the beginnings of what mortals would one day know as the Darkhold—I observed with mild irritation.
He had given humanity a direct inheritance.
An anchor.
A foothold.
It tilted the board in his favor.
Unacceptable.
So I responded.
I did not copy him.
I improved upon the concept.
From the essence of my own chaos divinity, I forged a tome unlike any other.
Its pages were not paper.
They were layered dimensional membranes.
Its ink was not ink.
It was condensed void script.
Its cover shifted subtly when unobserved.
I inscribed into it selected portions of my dark knowledge—not all. Never all.
Just enough.
Reality distortion rituals.
Soul-binding frameworks.
Chaos channeling incantations.
Dimensional projection sigils.
And most importantly—
A spell.
A single ritual that would allow the reader to project their consciousness across dimensional barriers… directly to me.
Not summoning.
Not control.
Communication.
If a mortal performed it correctly, their mind would stand before me in my dimension.
And I would decide what to grant.
I named it:
The Book of Azathoth.
A declaration of lineage.
A statement of potential.
A quiet threat.
Then I released it.
Not dramatically.
Not in fire and thunder.
I let it fall into the world quietly, into a hidden place where only the curious and desperate would eventually find it.
Unlike the Darkhold, mine would not immediately dominate history.
It would wait.
It would choose.
It would tempt.
Humanity was still primitive.
They could not yet read.
But they would.
And when they did…
There would be two great sources of forbidden knowledge upon Earth.
Chthon's corruption.
And mine.
The difference?
Chthon seeks domination.
I seek evolution.
Even if that evolution is… monstrous.
I watched the early humans gather around fires at night.
I whispered to them of agriculture.
Of cooperation.
Of tools.
I accelerated their path gently.
Because the faster they develop intelligence—
The sooner they can understand fear.
And worship.
And power.
And choice.
From within my ever-expanding dimension—now vast enough to rival minor universes—I smiled faintly.
Humanity had taken its first breath.
And already…
They were dreaming of me.