The avatar remained imprisoned, but this plane's inhabitants understood their role as servants to the godhead. They constructed a fountain for libations, brought offerings of specially prepared flesh, and ritually removed the offensive wastes of corporeality. They performed cleansings and ablutions before approaching to lavish praises and devotion upon this form. Echoes of its name resonated through the void between worlds. They named it him, named him Khoshekh. When the lesser minions came, they too were granted priests.
Perhaps, once it was free, there could yet be mercy for this world – mercy in exchange for proper tribute of tuna flakes.