Su Ming had once found the Hand of the Void's monsters extremely troublesome. On one hand, he had never been quite sure what they really were, and gathering intelligence on them was difficult. On the other, they were like plague-ridden locusts—wherever they burrowed, they brought aberration and corruption with them, making them hard to clean up.
Though both were the sort of things that made people feel Disgust, there were still major differences between the Hand of the Void and the Old Ones.
What the Old Ones and their kin displayed was an unnatural abnormality. At its core, it was rampant vitality and unconscious chaos, causing living creatures to grow madly and prompting people to contemplate truth, only to become more disgusted the more they thought about it.
To put it another way, the worlds they occupied were like a basin of moldy, hairy pig offal. At first glance, it was still barely tolerable, but there seemed to be something Golden Light glittering among the scraps, as if there were treasures inside, luring people into digging through it. The result was that they became infected with madness during the search.
That process was not forced. People approached them of their own accord. The Old Ones had no subjective desire to harm anyone; their attitude toward most humans was one of indifference—they did not know, did not care, did not see. Sometimes, it could even be said that their contact carried a measure of goodwill.
Take Cthulhu, for example. He particularly liked artistic young people—painters, sculptors, architects. In His eyes, they were all artists. Sometimes, when He was in a good mood, He would meet them in dreams and share a tiny bit of His knowledge with them.
But even a tiny bit of cosmic knowledge in the eyes of the