In the throes of his otherworldly struggle, Amun was cast adrift, not in the seas of the physical realm but in the vast, tumultuous ocean of the ethereal. The entity within the furnace, the pyre of bodies, each action was undertaken with an absence of forewarning or counsel. To the cosmic continuum, he was but an anomaly, a mere speck against the vastness of existence. What significance did he, or anything for that matter, hold against the backdrop of such ancient and profound beings?

Time lost its meaning to him, as moments and millennia merged into an indistinguishable haze. Time was a human construct, irrelevant and disregarded in his current state. Was this the liberation he sought from the mortal coil? In this place, he was unmade and remade, his purpose ceaselessly recycled in an eternal cycle of death and rebirth. He could delve into his amassed knowledge, plan and strategize with the lexicons of the past. The abyssal depths of the eldritch mysteries beckoned him deeper, the continuum a mere plankton in the vast ocean that after Carcosa (and the doom it would wield), the Oduum would feast upon devoured.

Temporarily, he left behind the physical plane, his astral form shedding the need for flesh and bone. He was part of the whole, conversing with the continuum itself, bargaining with the oblivion's depths, among many others who sought final death there. The memory of stepping into the inscribed circle, the portal to communion, or perhaps it was a mere dreamlike grove, lingered at the fringes of his mind. It was the last tether to a world defined by boundaries.

Now, he existed in this formless state. He had sought this, driven himself to the edge and beyond. But as time stretched infinitely before him, interwoven through the glowing sigils that marked his very being, he questioned the cost of such freedom. Eternity flowed through him, messages and energies pulsating with his essence.

A singular second or a million years, it all blended into a flat panorama, the perspective of the astral beings who observed their mortal playthings. They watched, learned, and harvested beliefs to sustain themselves. Why were they the judges of fate, and not the myriad of confused souls below?

Amun's journey through this spectral space was marked by neon colors and brilliant radiations, a visual cacophony of his unmaking and rebirth. The familiar white light beckoned, a return to the womb of existence, another cycle of birth and reckoning. He carried the burden of countless lifetimes, each a disc of experience and knowledge.

The reaction, the mortal anchor, still lingered — the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, a reminder to fight, to remain within the coil. He returned from the void, the spiral of his existence ever tightening, but now unbound by time, ready to face new questions and paths. Was this a new plane of existence, a fresh mortality shed? He witnessed the universe in its infancy and its entropy, the cosmic cycle of birth and death.

Set adrift again.

Time slides when perceived in such esoteric ways…perhaps the mental grapple and ensnarement, the consumption of such sinister spirits was more than Amun had bargained for…the voice in the furnace…the bodies burned in that pyre…it had all been done without so much as a warning. Amun was just a singular irregularity, a vicious anomaly to the constant of the universe and nature…why should he matter? Why should any of it “matter” when compared to the likes of beings such as these?

How long has it been? Moments or years? No, not years, not decades, not centuries, no time. There was no sense of it. Time, a human pondering, a human limitation, a human measurement unneeded and unheeded now. Precious time, like so much sand that can never be contained, just reflected on as it slips by. Could this be a freedom from the coil? Dread was the notion for here he was rebuilt, reconnected, recentered, and reconstructed again and again, wet womb and cold, empty grave, endless cycles of new and renewed purpose. He could access his libraries, lists, and lexicons here, make plans and try, try again. The great Eldritch mystery yawned and gaped before him to dive into and at greater depths. The currents took him there, the great abysmal chasm an ocean of twilight and knowledge. The continuum, nothing but so much phytoplankton to the killer whale of Carcosa to consume (again and again).

For a time, he left the planet, projected from his fleshy vessel, and the need for it fell away and the corporeal realm was the last thing he could recall absently. He was a part of it all, communing with the continuum itself, making a pact with the depths of oblivion there - so many there (YOU MAY DIE YOUR FINAL DEATH THERE YET, Covenant breaker). The moment before, or how long ago was it? No matter, no more….Amun recalled entering the inlaid circle of his making, the communing portal, or was it a shaded grove in some foreign dream-scape? No matter, it was the last thing he could recall being part of that world in sinewy bounding. The limits, there for an instant, a reminder of limits and cautions…..he yielded and dissipated.

Now, there was this. He had wanted this, driven to it. Time was gone, but he didn't know if he was free of its grasp and at what cost? This time, time, all of eternity stretched forward forever and through him, through the sigils, the light and glow coming from him was connected to the oceanic depths - a signal, channel of messages and energies and echoes…all him.

Single second,

plip. Plip, plop,

a million years, but somehow all the same. It's all the same. Flat and seen from afar. This was the way they witness (and watch and wait) it all and looked at them, their humans in the snares and cages, births, fornications, and deaths. They looked on in astral audiences: learning, entertained, and harvesting beliefs so that they may continue. Three paths, three trials, and three doors (fire, the offertory lamb, and the great architect), leading to many more doors - but it is they that dwell beyond the veil that judge and decide - always them. Why not we, the many scattered and confused insects, why are we not to decide for ourselves?

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Now, what could only be best described as neon color, flashes of brilliant radiation spilled forth from this distortion of flight through deep space. He was at ease with his unmaking and refinement. No motion though, yet there is a brilliant white (birth, pulled from a peaceful mire of nourishment. Damn You!) that is and was so familiar. It is when we left the astral Lilith’s womb (first mother), another birth now (I will not forget your face), and a reckoning (to what price this time) all of this melted into a flat perceivable disc of moment. If we all stopped blinking our eye, how long would it take to notice such a feat? The meaning, the meaning! Do not forsake the truth and suffer more. Carry the burden of thousands of these discs, return refreshed.

There was the reaction, still a familiar mortal anchor. Somehow, the alkali metallic taste on the tongue, bite hard you wilty prick! Well practiced to go back, remain in the coil a bit longer. Amun returns from the void to the snare, the spiral ever tightening, but time was gone and the quest could continue with new questions outside of the new doors, and this was a brilliant path ahead. Now to wander (wonder) upon, was this an undiscovered plane? A new mortality had died. He saw the universe being born, stretch, consume, grow and the entropy eat away at it again. The star stuff and the twilight ocean. Be thee the ever-present and humbled earth then, suffer not the royal whims of the lofted stars. We are smaller as the depths, yet to go deeper, for the predators are always present, the pressure of the depths the shape and adapt us. To not become prey of these beasts, mere cannon fodder and carrion upon forgotten plains of the ill-gotten conquests - this means to sign pacts as these and never stop being the predator.

He saw its death, its life, and could no longer see the difference between the two. Amun lay in a state of liminal consciousness, the weight of Asmoedon's consumption pressing heavily upon him. It was not just the physical act of subsuming the infernal spirit that drained him but the psychic and spiritual repercussions that reverberated through every fiber of his being. The tendrils of Asmoedon's essence, once so arrogantly coiled around his soul, now lay dormant within him, a captured tempest contained by sheer force of will.

In this fragile recovery, Amun found himself in a suspended reality, a place between the corporeal and the astral. The walls of his mind, once so resolute, now seemed porous, allowing the whispers of the universe to filter through. These were not the comforting murmurs of a familiar world but the chaotic cacophony of a reality far beyond human comprehension.

He was adrift in this sea of cosmic noise, yet anchored by a singular purpose. The struggle against Asmoedon had been more than a battle for dominance; it was a declaration of intent. Amun would not be a passive observer in the grand tapestry of existence. He would be its weaver, shaping his destiny with the threads of fallen deities and ancient powers.

As the moments, or perhaps eons, passed in this ethereal state, Amun's thoughts turned towards what lay ahead. With each new door opened, each new truth uncovered, the path became less certain and more treacherous. The acquisition of Asmoedon's power was a double-edged sword, granting him unimaginable strength but at the cost of an ever-increasing burden. The more he delved into the forbidden and the arcane, the more he risked losing himself to the very forces he sought to command.

Yet, amidst these swirling thoughts of power and peril, a spark of clarity emerged. It was the realization that this journey was not just about acquiring power or unraveling mysteries. It was about understanding the nature of existence itself, about finding one's place in a universe that was indifferent at best and hostile at worst.

With this epiphany, Amun's resolve hardened. He would continue down this path, not as a mere collector of ancient horrors but as a seeker of enlightenment. And though the way was fraught with danger and the outcome uncertain, he knew that the pursuit of knowledge was a quest worth any price.

Slowly, the world began to coalesce around him once more. The ethereal mists receded, and the cold, hard ground of reality pressed against his back. Asmoedon's presence within him was now a silent, sullen weight, a trophy of his victory and a reminder of the battles yet to come.

Amun rose, his body aching with the echoes of otherworldly conflict, but his spirit undaunted. He stepped forward, not just into the physical realm but into the unknown expanse of his future, a lone hunter in search of truths that were as old as the stars themselves.

In the tempestuous maelstrom of his mind, Amun, the relentless seeker of forbidden truths, found himself grappling with the essence of Asmoedon, the ancient and malevolent entity. The battle was fierce and internal, a vivid dance of wills clashing in a space where the physical plane held no sway. Amun, with his hardened resolve and countless lifetimes of collected wisdom and weariness, sought not just to overcome but to consume and imprison the very spirit that dared to challenge him.

The consuming was a violent communion of souls, a cataclysmic merging of predator and prey in the dark depths of Amun's psyche. Asmoedon, a being of pure corruption and chaos, writhed and bucked against the indomitable force that was Amun. It was a cosmic feast, a devouring of dark matter, as Amun absorbed the essence of the creature, taking into himself the infernal powers and ancient secrets it held. He felt the surge of unholy energies coursing through him, a tempest of dark wisdom and power that threatened to overwhelm his very being.

But Amun was no ordinary being. He was a warrior of the mind, a seasoned traveler of the astral planes, and he would not succumb to the intoxicating and destructive force of Asmoedon. With an iron will, he forged a prison within the fractured recesses of his own mind, a cell of light and fire to contain the malevolent spirit. The remnants of Asmoedon, the parts not devoured by Amun's insatiable hunger for power and knowledge, were locked away, howling and cursing in the darkness of their new prison.

As the battle subsided, Amun felt the weight of his actions. The consuming of Asmoedon had granted him incredible power and insight (as they all had and will), but it came at a cost. He felt the fractures in his mind prison widening, the darkness within growing ever more profound. The prisoner’s cells would require constant renovation and reconfiguration to avoid any potential for cross-contamination, they they would strengthen one another in an ill effected yield. Yet, he knew that this was his path, the burden he must bear to achieve his ultimate goal. He would harvest the keys he needed of Asmoedon, harness the dark energies for his own purposes to block a path forward, and when the time was right, he would cast the remains into a furnace….far from here. Some pyre warded by another where the physical and metaphysical met, where the remnants of such vile creatures could be burned away forever. Insight was his conquest, Insanity was the dire cost.

*****

In another time, while the childe Abe slumbered and dreamt this, the furnace roared with a hunger of its own, a gateway between worlds where the darkest entities could be purged. Amun understood that his battle was not just for himself but for the balance of all things. He was the hunter and the hunted, the jailer and the jailed, standing on the precipice between light and dark, order and chaos. With each step, he moved closer to his destiny, ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead, for he was Amun, the devourer of corruption would not falter, he spiraled onward.

And the two slept and may embrace here as you, the Passenger should feel embraced.

Now dream.