(Present day)

Norman could not have fled. He could not have fought. So he stood still. There was nothing else he could have done.

In the later years, he would often look back on this moment and think of what else he could have done. And the answer would always be - Nothing. No stretch of logic and no amount of forward preparation could have prepared him for the being that emerged from the abyss.

It's form defined description: There were no words in human language that could fully capture the essence of the writhing mass of dark tendrils streaked with violet flames.

As he fell down on his knees, his mind recalled a few Yaskh phrases from his explorations long back. "Rahemeth Deereh," he cried out. I surrender myself to your mercy, in old Yaskin.

The floor under him disappeared. Norman fell.

As he had anticipated, he didn't fall down to the floor below. He fell through into another world.

Dark violet clouds streamed past him. The clouds swirled and churned, their purple hues deepening with the fury of the storm. Rain pelted down in sheets, each droplet illuminated by the occasional flash of forked lightning. To his surprise, he landed on his feet. There was some guiding mechanism that arrested his fall.

As he descended, the storm began to abate, the violet clouds giving way to a clear, pale sky. The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the winds subsided.

Norman looked around. He had landed upon a craggy outcropping. The landscape around him was bizarre and utterly alien. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh rain.

Before him and behind him was a long stretch of parallel stone triangles - they were worn with time, but were clearly artificial in origin. Each one was of the same height - about ten times his own. Their points jutted up towards the sky like the fingers of some ancient and mysterious deity. A dull, gloomy sun loomed over the strange terrain, casting long, muted shadows across the triangular formations.

He could not push down the trace a anxiety in his voice, "Rathaad gullaameth." he concluded. We seek your forgiveness.

For what felt like hours, there was absolute silence. Norman tried to use his tablet to determine where they were, but the connection kept erroring out. Below the base of the triangle he stood on was a dark sea of writhing tentacles - there was nowhere to go.

Eventually, a series of guttural growls and haunting whispers of voices boomed around him. "We have hungered for aeons. You know our ways. You will repent for the insult offered to us." As the words echoed around him, the sea of darkness underneath began to ripple and twist, the ground shaking with each rumble of the voice.

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Norman prostrated himself on the ground. "Our arrival here was unplanned. We didn't expect to find beings of higher intellect."

"The guardians of the gate... perished?" The voice seemed to hold a hypnotic power. At times it was like a hundred voices were speaking from different directions. The next line would be as if there were only a dozen sources.

"The Yaskh abandoned this world long ago. Their motives are no longer known to us." Norman muttered.

"Traitors..." the alien voice dropped down to a whisper, before regaining its volume again. "Who rules now?"

"There is a galactic council that leads our people. It is headed by the God King. A celestial being that commands authority over hundreds of galaxies."

"Hundreds... powerful indeed." Another couple minutes of silence followed, before the voice reverberated around him again. "What do you seek? What is your purpose?"

"We seek forgotten knowledge. In the centuries of God King's rule, knowledge of essence-harvesting has been suppressed. Other than what the Saan allow, older magics have grown extinct."

"The Saan still exist?" Outrage echoed across the chasm.

That question was not something Norman had expected. Asking if the Saan existed was like asking if space still existed or technology still existed. They had existed for all known history.

"Yes..." he muttered. "No-one dares cross them." Norman was gambling here - there was no telling whether revealing that its powerful enemies were still around would temper their expectations or antagonize them further.

"This sanctum is in ruins. You will provide us a way out." Ok, this was not going in the direction Norman wanted.

He wondered what was keeping them locked in, now that the mechanism sealing the portal had been destroyed. Could this eldritch fiend just wander out into the empire at will?

Nonetheless, his question was answered. "We have old disagreements with Saan. We need another haven where we are not interfered with."

Norman's eyes widened. Disagreement with the Saan was utterly unheard of. They had never interfered with the day-to-day operations of any culture. Despite being immensely powerful, the Saan never took sides. They had dedicated themselves to preserving the sanctity of the spatio-temporal fabric.

"I promise to do that, elder. But my abilities are limited, and we will face resistance. We will need help..."

"Our envoy will guide you. You will have help. Once you complete the task you will be rewarded with knowledge beyond your wildest imagination."

Norman was alarmed. Someone from here will be accompanying him back? Still, suppressing his anxiety, he bowed, "I will honor your wish, elder."

"You will not have a choice." The night declared.

A fountain of tentacles rushed out from the sea, wrapped all around Norman and he was pulled upwards. As he was thrust up into the sky, his leg exploded in a searing pain. When the tentacles withdrew, he noticed that between the knee and ankle of his root foot there was now embedded a dark violet pulsating cyst. He was flung out of the hole and thrown back into the archive. He landed face first on a pile of broken glass.

For a while, he lay motionless, unable to move an inch. The remnants of the violent encounter clung to him like a shadow.

Slowly, he found himself able to stir. The first sensation to return was the pain from myriad cuts. Then there was the deep ache that throbbed in his temples, a reminder of the head trauma he had endured. His eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing a world that was initially a blur of indistinct shapes and colors. He attempted to move, but the pain that shot through his body as he tried to sit up caused him to recoil, his heart rate quickening in response.

Slowly, his senses continued to return. The world around him grew more distinct. He could hear the faint whirring of machinery, he could smell the distinct scent of blood. Eventually he could also feel the alien warmth radiating from the cyst in his leg.

Fighting against agonizing pain, he pushed himself up and looked closely at his foot. The bloated black sac was still there. Tiny tentacles could be seen swirling within the blister he had been "gifted" with. It pulsated rhythmically, expanding and contracting with each beat of his heart.