Alright, this took a good chunk of my time, but I will now post some quotes to shed some light on the proposed ratings.
First of all, in the short story
Hypnos, the protagonist and his friend are studying a more profound universe which runs deeper than the waking world:
Of our studies it is impossible to speak, since they held so slight a connexion with anything of the world as living men conceive it. They were of that vaster and more appalling universe of dim entity and consciousness which lies deeper than matter, time, and space, and whose existence we suspect only in certain forms of sleep—those rare dreams beyond dreams which come never to common men, and but once or twice in the lifetime of imaginative men. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
And this universe is what gave birth to the physical cosmos in the first place:
The cosmos of our waking knowledge, born from such an universe as a bubble is born from the pipe of a jester, touches it only as such a bubble may touch its sardonic source when sucked back by the jester's whim. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
So now the two are exploring this vast, undimensioned universe, and what they're doing is reaching into progressively deeper realities, with each "ascension" making them increasingly aware of the full scope of existence:
Human utterance can best convey the general character of our experiences by calling them plungings or soarings; for in every period of revelation some part of our minds broke boldly away from all that is real and present, rushing aërially along shocking, unlighted, and fear-haunted abysses, and occasionally tearing through certain well-marked and typical obstacles describable only as viscous, uncouth clouds or vapours. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
Another statement of transcending time:
Of the progress of time we kept no record, for time had become to us the merest illusion. I know only that there must have been something very singular involved, since we came at length to marvel why we did not grow old. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
And now, thanks to an unknown "wind," the protagonists are suddenly rushing through an endless series of vacua and straying further and further from the waking cosmos:
There was a night when winds from unknown spaces whirled us irresistibly into limitless vacua beyond all thought and entity. Perceptions of the most maddeningly untransmissible sort thronged upon us; perceptions of infinity which at the time convulsed us with joy, yet which are now partly lost to my memory and partly incapable of presentation to others. Viscous obstacles were clawed through in rapid succession, and at length I felt that we had been borne to realms of greater remoteness than any we had previously known. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
Later in the story, when the two decide to never do this again after Hypnos experiences something totally horrifying past the final barrier, Hypnos himself is compelled to stare off into space in some direction:
Especially was he afraid to be out of doors alone when the stars were shining, and if forced to this condition he would often glance furtively at the sky as if hunted by some monstrous thing therein. He did not always glance at the same place in the sky—it seemed to be a different place at different times. On spring evenings it would be low in the northeast. In the summer it would be nearly overhead. In the autumn it would be in the northwest. In winter it would be in the east, but mostly if in the small hours of morning. Midwinter evenings seemed least dreadful to him. Only after two years did I connect this fear with anything in particular; but then I began to see that he must be looking at a special spot on the celestial vault whose position at different times corresponded to the direction of his glance—a spot roughly marked by the constellation Corona Borealis. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
Then, one fateful day, Hypnos falls into a deep sleep from which the protagonist cannot awaken him. As this happens, he notices that Corona Borealis, something which Hypnos is scared of, is rising in the northeast - and from that direction, the protagonist hears what is likely the Outer Gods:
The tension of my vigil became oppressive, and a wild train of trivial impressions and associations thronged through my almost unhinged mind. I heard a clock strike somewhere—not ours, for that was not a striking clock—and my morbid fancy found in this a new starting-point for idle wanderings. Clocks—time—space—infinity—and then my fancy reverted to the local as I reflected that even now, beyond the roof and the fog and the rain and the atmosphere, Corona Borealis was rising in the northeast. Corona Borealis, which my friend had appeared to dread, and whose scintillant semicircle of stars must even now be glowing unseen through the measureless abysses of aether. All at once my feverishly sensitive ears seemed to detect a new and wholly distinct component in the soft medley of drug-magnified sounds—a low and damnably insistent whine from very far away; droning, clamouring, mocking, calling, from the northeast. | | |
| ~ Hypnos | |
So basically, since the Ultimate Void is reached and the Outer Gods are met
after already breaching an infinite number of metaphysical realms, each one demonstrated to be more profound than the previous, with the final barrier leading up to them being incalculably denser than any of the other barriers, this implies that they utterly transcend the entire sequence of the vacua.
In case there are still doubts that Hypnos met the Outer Gods, the association of the Outer Gods with the stars and the sky is made elsewhere. In
The Dreams in the Witch House, our protagonist, named Walter Gilman, is compelled to stare off into the direction of a certain point in space, which makes it more evident that it was the Ultimate Void which Hypnos went into because he did the same:
Some unknown attraction was pulling his eyes in a seemingly irrelevant direction, for he could not help staring at a certain vacant spot on the floor. As the day advanced the focus of his unseeing eyes changed position, and by noon he had conquered the impulse to stare at vacancy. About two o'clock he went out for lunch, and as he threaded the narrow lanes of the city he found himself turning always to the southeast. Only an effort halted him at a cafeteria in Church Street, and after the meal he felt the unknown pull still more strongly. | | |
| ~ The Dreams in the Witch House | |
The southeastward pull still held, and only with tremendous resolution could Gilman drag himself into the old house and up the rickety stairs. For hours he sat silent and aimless, with his eyes shifting gradually westward. About six o'clock his sharpened ears caught the whining prayers of Joe Mazurewicz two floors below, and in desperation he seized his hat and walked out into the sunset-golden streets, letting the now directly southward pull carry him where it might. An hour later darkness found him in the open fields beyond Hangman's Brook, with the glimmering spring stars shining ahead. The urge to walk was gradually changing to an urge to leap mystically into space, and suddenly he realised just where the source of the pull lay. | | |
| ~ The Dreams in the Witch House | |
It was in the sky. A definite point among the stars had a claim on him and was calling him. Apparently it was a point somewhere between Hydra and Argo Navis, and he knew that he had been urged toward it ever since he had awaked soon after dawn. In the morning it had been underfoot; afternoon found it rising in the southeast, and now it was roughly south but wheeling toward the west. | | |
| ~ The Dreams in the Witch House | |
And while we're talking about this story, there is this quote to consider:
There were suggestions of the vague, twilight abysses, and of still vaster, blacker abysses beyond them—abysses in which all fixed suggestions of form were absent. He had been taken there by the bubble-congeries and the little polyhedron which always dogged him; but they, like himself, had changed to wisps of milky, barely luminous mist in this farther void of ultimate blackness. Something else had gone on ahead—a larger wisp which now and then condensed into nameless approximations of form—and he thought that their progress had not been in a straight line, but rather along the alien curves and spirals of some ethereal vortex which obeyed laws unknown to the physics and mathematics of any conceivable cosmos. Eventually there had been a hint of vast, leaping shadows, of a monstrous, half-acoustic pulsing, and of the thin, monotonous piping of an unseen flute—but that was all. Gilman decided he had picked up that last conception from what he had read in the Necronomicon about the mindless entity Azathoth, which rules all time and space from a curiously environed black throne at the centre of Chaos. | | |
| ~ The Dreams in the Witch House | |
So, given all that I have presented, I think that there is reason to believe that the Outer Gods - not even the eternal, static Archetypes themselves, but the local beings called "Other Gods" which are merely fractions of the Archetypes - qualify for a
High 1-A rating.