In a cinema for a new movie's grand debut, even the harshest of critics, no matter how seemingly bent against this genre of fiction or that, could not simply disregard the media they meant to watch.  The slimmest, meanest connoisseur stifled his morose gripes until the food timidly set before him passed his sunken lips.  No master of their craft, however infinite their knowledge or instant their conclusions, held the ability to judge a work of art sent his way until after its experience.  So it was that Aforgomon, bare-soul being beyond the veil of sleep, waited until it knew the undead wretch beneath its claws could offer no more insight into a dead man's dreams before it turned its head to paste between its heel and the arid, hard-packed savannah dirt.

Trickles of multicolored gel slathered between its nauseating, sharklike teeth.  A mind already reduced to little more than a raving animal's did not satisfy an undying craving for knowledge for long.  Aforgomon turned this way and that, invisible to the humans and husks that ran in a frenzy around and between its legs.  For now, the village panic had subsided.  Those humans whose gifts were greater had congregated in fortified buildings in which to wait out the undead threat, while the remaining poor souls were split between the dead and the doomed.  Not many at all of the things that lurched across the dirt paths of the little town were human anymore, and a funeral quiet had settled over it like a fog.  A new idea seized hold of Aforgomon, and it took a single step toward the nearest house.

Immediately, the closest undead -whether qualifying for insanity or deprived of its opposite- turned blindly and with frothing mouths to the smell of life.  Unopposed, the first zombie grabbed hold of Aforgomon's leg and leaned in to tear with yellow incisors its pale flesh.  Where enamel met epidermis, however, light instead of blood sprayed out, and within the brilliant gash could be seen infinite, starry space.  The pressure difference sucked the unfortunate creature inside, messily cramming it through the tiny hole and into an alternate dimension.  An instant later, the rift had closed, and it was as if the zombie never existed.

Its famished fellows fared similarly.  One, mistaking Aforgomon for corporeal, attempted to slice off a chunk from it with her claws, and instead tore into the dimensional incongruity that surrounded it—a tear into a dimension of fire that incinerated her in milliseconds.  A third undead reached through Aforgomon's phantomlike body, toppled over, and was the next second crunched beneath the Great One's solidified foot.  Only a few titanlike strides brought Aforgomon within a stone's throw of the house.  With ritualistic slowness and deliberation, it raised its arms over its head, and with its leprous digits formed a perfect circle.  Growing stiller than death, it reached back into its crepuscular memory for a specific dream: its own.

An eerie blot of light, shaped like a stab wound, manifested in front of the circle formed by its fingers.  From this rift stretched a plethora of vile, gelatinous tentacles of all shapes and sized, rushing forth through the hole in their prison to a new dimension.  They smashed through the house as if it were kindling, prompting shrieks from the humans hiding within, but got no further.  Aforgomon closed the rift and severed the tentacles to drop, lifeless, to the ground.  One human, stunned and perhaps driven mad by the impossible sight, shivered against the floor until Aforgmon plucked her.  In its cold vicegrip it offered her to the zombies, but it robbed them of their treat after a single bite to hold the woman skyward instead.  The virus flooded her system, a chemical wildfire that burned and decayed all it touched, and curious Aforgomon touched her changing mind to sample her dream.