He had been laughed out of his job at the university, almost ended up in the psych ward. Anyone who saw him now wouldn't hesitate to lock him up. The past months had not been kind and he seemed a mere shadow of his former self. A crazed, wild-eyed, shadow at that. His eyes were rimmed with red, his hair a tousled shock of white. His clothing was tattered, torn, and muddy from his trek through the dark jungles of South America.

His research had brought him here, searching for the creature. The local tribes had been the focus of his study. One in particular had especially captivated him, one long thought to be extinct. It's legends lived on in the stories of the other tribes. Dark stories that were used to frighten children. Stories of unthinkable monsters and the end of the world. One story had stuck in his mind, latching on and growing into a darkness he could no longer control.

The goddess of this tribe, if such a foul creature could be called that, appeared in many forms. The seductive enchantress. The priestess who bathed in blood. The horrifying monstrosity. She would ravage her sacrifices, taking their life essence into her own. Then she would devour them, leaving behind only their bones.

Whatever she was, she had been worshipped by this tribe. And she taken over his mind. He was drawn to her. He dreamt of her every night. And now he was close.

The temple seemed to rise out of the ground, rather than being built on top of it. The black stone was not of this earth, seeming to draw in his very soul. The clearing around him was deathly silent as he stepped inside, his way lit by the torch in his hand. Soon after entering it became apparent he wouldn't need it. Incredibly, the entire interior was lit by flame. Columns topped with cauldrons of fire lined the cavernous room. In between were statues. Each image reminded him of his dreams: the beautiful nude goddess, mounting the helpless victim, transforming into various forms, each more hideous than the last. The final statue was a writhing mass of tentacles that seemed to undulate in the flickering firelight. It sat in the middle of a pool of thick, dark liquid. He cautiously bent to touch it. His finger came back red.

Blood.

Some thing brushed against his calf.

His eyes shot down, the light of the flames revealing the culprit. A thick, dark tentacle wrapped around his ankle, tightening instantly. With a head splitting crash his legs were pulled out from under him. He stared at the ceiling, blinking away stars as the acrid smell of rotting flesh invaded his nostrils. He lay helpless as he was dragged into a dark corner where a shadowy figure loomed over him.

He saw, simultaneously, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and the burning eyes of his own death.

They would have to believe him now. Not that he would survive to tell them.