Humanity had finally crossed the threshold.
They were no longer merely clever animals.
They were thinking beings.
Primitive. Violent. Superstitious.
But thinking.
For ages I had whispered into minds that could not truly comprehend me. I fed them knowledge—tool-making, fire refinement, structured hunting, basic agriculture.
And they fumbled it.
Forgot it.
Misinterpreted it.
At times, their stupidity irritated me so profoundly that I lost restraint.
A few minds shattered.
Burned out like fragile sparks.
I had underestimated how little divine knowledge their neural structures could handle.
Lesson learned.
Moderation.
Now, in the caveman era, something changed.
Their brains had developed enough complexity to sustain abstract thought.
Symbolism.
Myth.
Fear of unseen forces.
So I escalated.
One night, beneath a sky thick with stars, I entered their dreams—
Not in my restrained projection.
Not robed.
Not concealed.
I showed them my true form.
Vast.
Tentacled.
Infinite.
A being towering beyond mountains, eyes like collapsing galaxies, presence folding space around itself.
They did not understand what they saw.
But they understood one thing.
Divinity.
They awoke screaming.
Weeping.
Proclaiming the coming of the Great One.
One tribe, isolated near a jagged coastline, responded with devotion rather than terror.
They carved stone.
Rough, crude, but intentional.
A shrine.
Spirals etched into rock.
Tentacle patterns.
A massive circular symbol representing an eye above waves.
They believed I created them.
That was… not entirely false.
I had accelerated their development.
Strengthened their evolution.
Guided their knowledge.
Without me, humanity would be far slower.
Their belief, though inaccurate in detail, aligned with my influence.
And belief is what matters.
For the first time, I felt sustained worship.
It flowed toward me like a thin current of psychic resonance.
Small.
Incredibly small.
Barely measurable compared to the dimensional empires I had absorbed.
But different.
It was intentional.
Directed.
Focused.
The tribe began rituals.
Primitive chants.
Blood offerings from hunted animals.
Occasional human sacrifice when fear peaked.
The souls were insignificant in scale.
But they carried devotion.
That devotion anchored me deeper into Earth's metaphysical fabric.
Still—
The power increase was negligible.
Annoyingly so.
Lowly humans.
They did not yet know the correct rituals.
The true pathways of amplification.
The methods that convert worship into structured divine reinforcement.
Those secrets…
Were written in the Book of Azathoth.
The book contained:
Proper soul-channeling rites.
Chaos attunement circles.
Dimensional beacon construction.
A refined mind-projection spell allowing priests to stand before me consciously.
Worship frameworks that multiply resonance exponentially.
But they had not found it yet.
And until they did—
Their offerings were crude.
I watched them dance around firelight, chanting a broken version of my name.
"Khufu Lou."
Imperfect pronunciation.
Crude understanding.
But sincere.
And sincerity has weight.
Within my dimension, I considered possibilities.
Should I guide them toward the book?
Or allow discovery to occur naturally?
Too much direct interference could stunt their independent development.
Too little could slow progress.
Balance.
Even in darkness, strategy is required.
Chthon's influence continued elsewhere through the Darkhold.
His corruption was sharper.
More destructive.
Less patient.
Mine was foundational.
I did not want humanity extinct.
I wanted them powerful.
Because intelligent mortals with access to forbidden knowledge become something far more interesting than obedient servants.
They become catalysts.
And catalysts reshape universes.
From my vast true form coiled behind reality, I observed the tribe kneeling before my shrine.
Small.
Fragile.
Ephemeral.
And yet—
One day their descendants would build cities.
Empires.
Libraries.
And when they rediscover my Book…
The rituals will be correct.
The worship will be efficient.
And then—
The power increase will not be negligible.
It will be exponential.
For now, I remain patient.
But I am no longer bored.
Humanity has finally become interesting.