Years have passed since that fateful day when the veil between worlds tore asunder, and the cosmic entities known only as The Old Ones descended upon our unsuspecting town. I, Thomas Raines, once a humble photographer, now bear witness to their lingering presence, forever changed by what transpired.

The Apex Tower stands no more, its smoldering ruins a testament to the devastation wrought that day. Yet, amidst the rubble and ashes, something else took root—a dark corruption seeping into the very fabric of reality itself. People began changing; not merely physically but spiritually, as if some unseen force whispered insidious thoughts into their minds.

I watched in horror as friends turned against one another, spouting blasphemous rhetoric about ancient gods awakening and humanity's impending doom. They spoke of The Old Ones with reverence, their eyes filled with a zealous fervor that chilled me to the core. It was then I realized the true nature of our tormentors—they did not seek mere destruction but sought converts too.

My once quiet life became a desperate struggle for survival, both against those who would do harm and those who would indoctrinate. I took refuge in the one place where sanity still seemed to reign: my art studio. Here, amidst canvases and paints, I found solace in creating images that reflected not the horrors without but rather beauty within.

But even this sanctuary proved fleeting.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky with hues of crimson and gold, there came a knock at my door. Standing on the threshold was Alex, or what remained of her—her eyes glowed with an eerie light, mouth twisted into a rictus grin revealing teeth now sharp and pointed like those of some ravenous beast.

"Alex?" I whispered, heart pounding wildly against ribs. "What have they done to you?"

She tilted head slightly, as if considering response before letting out low laugh that sent shivers down spine.

"Not us, Thomas," she rasped. "Us."

Before could react, she lunged forward jaws snapping mere inches from my face; only quick reflexes saved me from being torn limb from limb right then and there. As it was, I barely managed escape, slamming door shut behind me before retreating deeper into house.

In that moment, all hope fled—no longer were we fighting some external force but battling dark tendrils creeping through our own hearts, corrupting souls one by one. And there, huddled in darkness with nothing but thoughts for company, I made my decision: I would not become another pawn in their twisted game.

Over following weeks, I worked tirelessly preparing my final masterpiece—an exorcism of sorts painted onto massive canvas intended banish lingering remnants Old Ones once and for all. Every brushstroke poured forth anger, despair, love, and hope; each color chosen with care to evoke emotions powerful enough counteract dark forces threatening consume us.

When finally finished, I stepped back admiring handiwork—this would be my magnum opus, a testament defiance against cosmic horrors plaguing our world. Yet even as pride swelled chest, dread coiled icy tendrils around heart knowing what came next...

I must burn it.

For days now, visions haunted me: images burning city reduced to ashes while overhead alien constellations spun wildly out control—galaxies colliding, stars exploding into supernovae... apocalypse unleashed upon earth by my own hand. But what choice did I have? Better end world than let Old Ones claim it for their own twisted purposes.

So here I stand amidst smoldering embers that were once my life's greatest achievement, watching flames leap higher towards heavens as if reaching out grasp cosmic entities responsible for our plight. Around me, shadows dance menacingly yet within breast, peace reigns supreme—no longer afraid die; instead, embrace death gladly knowing have fought till very end.

As final flickers die down, I turn away from pyre leaving behind remnants my past and stepping into uncertain future. Whatever comes next, face it unafraid—for in this moment, I am truly free.