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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, dark, inky tendrils writhe across the surface of a colossal, star-eating void at the heart of a maelstrom, as if alive. The air around me is thick with an acrid smell, kinda like ozone and burning oil, and a heavy, unsettling stillness hangs, punctuated by an ear-piercing, ululating whine. Above, a sickle moon hangs askew, illuminating clouds that eerily replicate fractal patterns in perfect sync with... I don't know, something deep beneath the maelstrom's churning, green-tinged waters. The clouds just phase through the moon without interaction, like they're different realities or something.