It woke into pain. The pain of being bound into flesh, the pain of the sea that pressed down on It’s material form, the pain of It’s body having been eaten away by the creatures of the deep.

The pain of awareness after ages of mindless slumber.

With pain came determination and fury. It let loose a cry of victory as It smashed free of the crumbling temple that had held It for so long and rushed toward the surface. Surely the infant gods of old had weakened.

It would consume this world, all worlds, and when the dark deed was done, it would turn It’s hungry gaze upon the very sun and-

“Not today, big guy,” Silas said, driving his god-enchanted blade deep into the first black eye to break the surface and holding it there until the psychic scream of the beast faded and it sank back into the deep.

Collapsing back into his rowboat, he hit the talk button on his radio and announced, “That, children, is how you handle an eldritch abyss monster. Now, if you’ll turn to page three-oh-two of your textbooks…”