When the Priest approached the Elemental again, the chaotic abstractions receded, everything took a concrete form: a multicolored haze of chaotic particles, individual few waves and vectors, the permissible error passed by the tenacious claws, acidic bright eternally bending streams of energy becoming several ordered channels under His hemline, finally the God-Tsar Ktulhu himself on the anthrocyte throne in the fabulous jewels and silks, more than star systems, similar to galaxies in size and splendor, surrounded by turquoise radiance and a measured electric buzz.

Sea-green silk Roman toga with many malachite stripes covered His scaly slimy mollusk flesh, and over His clothes an anatomical muscular cuirass and bracers made of bismuth bronze and jade, dotted with runes of the language of the dead, the head is crowned by a horned helmet-crown made of orichalcum, inlaid with onyx and emeralds, where each tooth and pebble is higher than all the Earth's mountains combined. In his right hand is a trident with striking spiral teeth, and the left hand is bent in a sacred gesture, around which six multidimensional spheres rotate to the beat of a nasty spiral melody. His wings are Mandelbrot fractals, resembling a horseshoe crab, overgrown with corals, they are constantly approaching, unwinding their otherworldly infinitely expanding pattern, His heralds are a sine wave and a cosine wave, the moray eel Charybdis and the eel Scylla, the Greeks called Ktulhu as Pythonus. The six faintly glowing eyes of Ktulhu have no pupils, they are like precious turquoise with tubular veins inside, but they are empty, the eyes do not express anything, like the tentacled chthonic muzzle.

In its brilliance and power, the Great Ancient is indescribably terrible: black-dirty clouds of corpse gas and dust come out from under each scale, so that green cemetery lights flash in them, like volcanic eruptions of young planets, the Volgas and Amazons of thick swamp slime flow in loud waterfalls from the pores of the skin, dripping onto luxurious clothes and a throne, tentacles grow tearing apart the matter underneath. God rots and decomposes, although some call Him a Dead God, but in reality He is not alive, but He - not dead.

The Elemental God does not know human speech, he operates with mathematical formulas and graphs, models and vague images. Ktulhu is locked by a curse without the possibility of exit in a diode set, the entrance to which is accessible only through complex rituals in places and events of power, but his all-pervading aura reaches every corner of the Universe, however, only beings with a sensitive mentality can perceive his messages in the form of dreams, hallucinations and visions.

The Great Ancient emitted a series of prolonged electric hums, clicks and whistles, paired with the otherworldly play of a monstrous contraphagot, as if it were music. This was followed by arrays of symbols in the language of the dead, along with systems of equations and inequalities, graphs with many lines, arcs, asymptotes and continuous functions, followed by simple three-dimensional and multidimensional shapes that constantly change rotation periods. The huge volume and diversity of the message data made the Priest think, he used many theorems and formulas, whispered spells and drove through himself, as through the prism of all these quantities, when finally scattered information began to form a human silhouette...