The day that the million-year old city of R'lyeh rose up to the surface of the South Pacific Ocean, and did not sink again beneath the waves, was also the day of the greatest, most horrifically beautiful insanity to have broken on to the world of humanity at that point in time. While the liberated Cthulhu swarmed about R'lyeh's dripping, weed-draped, corral-crusted towers, men, hearing Its/Their call, became in their cities again the howling, snarling beasts of their so distant past.

Vehicles crashed in the streets and in the air; glass windows shattered as crazed mobs of now mindless millions surged outside, ripping away their clothes, vomiting, defecating, buggering, biting and killing, turned into animals by the song of the Cthulhu, now more powerful than ever. The illusion that was human civilization was ripped away by gory talons.

But the Cthulhu, enveloping the Earth in Its/Their dream transmissions, saw the planet and thought: For this have I/We slept for countless eons in the darkness? After so long, is this My/Our reward? And the Cthulhu looked upon the world and its screeching primitives, and knew disappointment.

Bereft of the power which had ever sustained it, the city of R'lyeh disintegrated into the sea as the Cthulhu, merging Its/Their power into one collosal, black, burning sphere of thought-energy, shot off into the depths of interstellar space for new, more interesting pastures. And Father Dagon and Mother Hydra, with all their half-human spawn of the oceans, cried out to the Cthulhu not to abandon them, to return. But no reply was made, and so the Deep Ones quietly slunk away into lightless, undersea caverns and abysses to mourn themselves to death.

And humanity? It recovered in time; its story was not yet completely done. There were always new madnesses and monsters.