Cloud slowly walked up towards the towering obsidian gateway. He slowly opened the door, revealing a lavashly furnished room , with furniture knitted from the screaming souls of rapists, murderers, and chinese counterfiet merchendise sellers, drenched in the finest mayonaisse from the mayoyster farms in the tenth circle of hell.
"Come in" a voice resembling that of an elderly british man said from within the next room. Cloud walked into the next room, which was made of cartilage, to meet the speaker.
"I'm so glad you could join me for tea, Cloud.", said Azathoth, his body composed entirely of rotting goats glued together by the mustard coming out of their pores. "I do get awfully lonely in here without anyone to chat with.", he said while dipping his slice of oreo poundcake in a saucer filled with his pet chupacabra's sense of humor, located on the coffee table, which was made with the screams of orphans. "Please, do tell me what you've been up to lately."
The goats had started to ferment, and were leaving an awful smell behind as they began the process. "Go fuck your cat." Cloud replied, before bludgeoning his pantsabre through Azathoths heart, as the blood of the forsaken mustard goats began to leak out of his many goat hearts.