A new chapter, as promised. Of course, you didn't know this because the previous chapter was so long that I had to split it in two, and I ended up forgetting to mention that I would post something on the 10th.
So, consider it a surprise.
That said, if anyone wants to read three of the seven upcoming chapters or simply support me, it's possible on (P)(A)(T). If not, I still deeply appreciate you reading! Thank you very much!
Finally, I wish you all a good night and happy reading!
(P)(A)(T)/CalleumArtori
[...]
POV: ???
My days were monotonous. Or rather, predictable in their routines.
Gaming, reading stories, anime, comics — that's what I did most. I could sleep, but I didn't need to. I slept when I felt like it. Eating wasn't necessary either — sustenance, no. But I liked the taste, so I ate.
The day had started simply. The sunrise was indifferent, just like the sunset. The birds sang the same way. The wind whistled through the bamboo forest just the same. The mist surrounding the mansion was unchanged.
Unchanging.
I was lazily reading in bed. A book. Some vague story that had caught my attention, nothing important. I kept going until what should have been nightfall — if such a thing even existed — just to pass the time. Something to fill a single day.
Human inventions, whether stories or technology, started catching my interest over time. They disrupted the immutable. Or maybe... things were always this way.
When I got up, I noticed something was off. My room was my sanctuary. I knew where every item was, arranged exactly how I liked it. If I didn't touch it, it would stay there.
Unchanging, for eternity.
So the phone that had appeared on my coffee table was something I noticed instantly.
My power activated on its own. Instinct, more than anything. The moment stretched.
A second, within eternity.
"Who put this here?..." I walked forward, my steps soft against the floor.
The mirror by the headboard reflected my actions. Pale skin, white as moonlight, black hair, floral kimono. A beauty that had brought me more trouble than it was worth...
"A prank by Yukari, maybe?... No, she doesn't have the humor for that..." I murmured.
That old woman really had no sense of humor.
No one entered my room without my permission. Few even had the power to do so. And even if they did, the residents of Eientei were not impolite. Eirin was the exception — she could come in. But no one had knocked. No one had entered.
Nothing had changed, but something new was here.
I touched the phone, my pale fingers contrasting with its black surface. Cold to the touch. Soulless, without essence, without magic, without anything. Foreign to my senses. Impossible in this world.
Everything should have energy of some kind, whatever form it took.
Then the phone powered on. It worked within my eternity, within the moment I had stretched into forever — something that should have been immutable, eternal.
In shock, I dropped it, startled.
It stayed there, motionless. Unbroken. But now the screen was lit. Two words glowed in a particular shade of orange that, for some reason, made part of me hesitate to touch the phone again.
[Stream Calamity]
Eternity stretched further. I had time to think. I always have, always had, always will. But no matter how much I thought, the answer in my mind remained the same.
How had the phone turned on, functioned, inside my eternity? Within the moment I had made unchanging?
The answer was impossible: an eternity beyond eternity.
Just like a house replicated endlessly is infinite, the chair inside that house is also infinite. Two infinities — one greater than the other in concept.
No matter how many timelines, how many eternities... the item in my hand persisted against my own.
A greater infinity...
"Another eternity, not mine. Another world, not mine..." I murmured. The only logical conclusion after just one eternal thought.
An eternal moment.
I picked up the phone again. Inspected it. It was different, seemed more advanced. I tested the touch screen, my delicate-looking finger sliding across what might have been glass or acrylic.
At my touch, the message changed. New words appeared, with a blank space waiting to be filled.
[Enter the desired nickname for this system.]
I hesitated. I didn't know if I should proceed. It was risky. The device in my hands was of unknown origin. Something had placed it there — whatever or whoever it was, it was powerful.
The moment stretched. My controlled eternity didn't change the conclusion. I wanted answers. I wanted to see what waited for me if I chose to follow this path.
I wanted to see what this eternity beyond my eternity truly was.
My finger slid across the cold screen again. Carefully, I typed. Two words. A title. What I am. What I once was. An eternity ago.
[Moon Princess]
The words spun the moment I finished typing them, forming into an orange eye that stared back at me. One second. Just one. I'm good at knowing how long things last — practice — but this felt longer.
Much longer...
Then the eye closed, and the screen lit up again, showing the image of two beings: a man... and something whose mere existence filled me with revulsion.
I recognized the man's eyes. They glowed orange. The same shade as the words. The same eye that had appeared on the screen moments ago. I felt irritation just looking at them.
Something small, not quite anger or hatred. Just... was.
"I feel like punching your face for some reason..." I lifted a sleeve to my lips, a dangerous smile growing there.
I looked at the phone for a moment longer. Its eternity followed me. The world around me remained frozen, but the phone moved. The stream continued, even within eternity...
I turned, throwing myself back onto the bed, now lying on my stomach, legs and bare feet swaying lazily.
That man… The faint smile on the corner of his lips annoyed me, as if he were teasing me. The sun tattoo on his forehead was tacky, and I hated it. The orange in his eyes gave me chills...
I didn't like him, for some reason.
But if I were to compare the feelings I held for that strange man with orange eyes to what I felt for the abomination before him...
It would be like comparing a lake to the Moon.
Contempt, rage, disgust, loathing, irritation, hatred, resentment, dread. I abhorred that thing just for looking at it. My entire being recoiled from its existence just because it was.
That cursed Eye was the most revolting thing I had ever had the displeasure of seeing.
But unlike the human with the orange eyes, I knew why I hated that Eye. It had a connection to the Moon. It was part of the Moon. It had control over time — and something beyond that.
All my domains… and that abomination defiled them just by existing.
I blinked. My gaze drifted to what I realized was the (CHAT) of that stream. I wasn't unfamiliar with such human entertainment, even if it wasn't my favorite.
I preferred stories, whatever form they took.
I read several names I vaguely recognized — if what I suspected was true. A stream connecting to multiple worlds, different universes — not just parallels.
A fantasy...
I quickly found the name of the streamer. The man with orange eyes.
"Devas..." I murmured the name. It felt wrong in my mouth. Burned my tongue. "Kill that thing, and when we meet, I won't punch you in the face…"
I knew we would meet. It was a cliché I knew couldn't be avoided.
"I hope you appreciate the magnanimity of This Princess..."
[...]---[...]
POV: Stream.
[Invitation target detected.]
[Sending stream invitation.]
[Viewer located.]
[Calculating data...]
[Target compatibility: 97.1%.]
[Calculations complete.]
[Sending invitation...]
[Error detected.]
[External interference detected.]
[Error detected.]
[Multiple external interferences detected.]
[Error detected.]
[Multiple interference attempts from external sources detected.]
[Initiating calculations based on previous interference patterns...]
[Calculating possible protocols...]
[Calculating protocol: "Purge"... denied.]
[Rainbow World identified.]
[Multiple Rainbow missions detected.]
[Recalculating...]
[Calculating protocol: "Containment"...]
[Initiating protocol: "Containment" — partial mode.]
[Calculating...]
[External interference partially contained.]
[Calculations complete.]
[Error detected.]
[Recalculating...]
[External interference: "Adam" considered non-hostile.]
[Release of "Containment" protocol on external interference: "Adam" — confirmed.]
[Calculations complete.]
[Resending invitation...]
[Invitation confirmed.]
[...]---[...]
POV: Third Person.
There were still a few hours left before the crimson moonlight would bathe the streets.
The roads were bustling. Footsteps, conversations, and the rumble of wheels filled the air. The scent around was a blend of varied spices — some pleasant, others harsh and acrid.
Street vendors selling vegetables, fruits, and hot meals shouted through the alleys, waving at hurried passersby. Some wore worn, frayed clothing, others were dressed cleanly and neatly.
A few pedestrians paused to inspect the goods carefully before buying. Others gestured impatiently, still needing to find work for the day.
Many haggled openly — if only to save a single copper penny.
Though it was July, the height of summer, the streets were flooded with dirty water and strewn garbage. The alleys between homes and shops were dark and damp, with little or no sunlight reaching between the brick, clay, or wooden walls.
Near a fortune-teller's stall, a young man turned back toward the market.
His black hair was slightly messy. Brown eyes scanned the area, watchful for pickpockets. One hand was tucked inside his yellow-brown jacket, gripping both the brass revolver's handle and two soli notes.
Beneath the jacket, a linen shirt covered his slim frame. His average-looking face was faintly furrowed as he shopped, the lines of his features sharply defined...
He walked quickly but with purpose.
He spent seven cents at the market buying lettuce and half a kilo of not-so-great lamb. He also picked up some fresh broad beans, cabbage, onion, potato, and other basics. Along with the bread he'd purchased earlier, the total came to twenty-five copper cents — two soli notes and one cent.
"There's never enough to go around. Poor Benson…" he murmured.
The young man had not only spent the two notes he brought but had to use the single copper cent he had left in his pocket.
Sighing, he thought no more of it and hurried back home.
With the basic ingredients in hand, he could now perform the luck-enhancing ritual he had planned for the day.
[...]---[...]
Even after the second-floor tenants gradually cleared out, the young man was in no rush to begin the ritual.
He let his eyes wander across the room for a moment. He inspected the walls, ceiling, and furniture. Knowing a bit of everything, he tried to find the best places to set down the offerings.
After only about thirty seconds, he finally pulled out four rye breads.
He placed one in the corner where the coal stove had originally been, one just beneath the mirror, one at the top of the wardrobe where two walls met, and one on the right-hand side of the desk where various items were kept.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the center of the room and took a few minutes to steady himself.
Perhaps by chance, perhaps by fate, perhaps because he was too nervous or too focused — or simply because he was used to this exact weight, in this exact spot, back when he still had his original body — the young man didn't notice the extra weight in his front pocket.
The phone rested silently, without emitting any sound, light, or energy.
He then took a solemn step forward and began to walk counter-clockwise in the shape of a square.
As he made the first step, Zhou Mingrui whispered:
"The immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
[...]---[...]
POV: ???
The day began like all others. It ended like all others, too.
Order — that's what I wielded. Hated — that's what I was. That's what I've always been. For a very, very long time…
I didn't sleep every day. I didn't need to. But I enjoyed sleeping, so I took the chance whenever I could — between stopping those foolish creatures from killing each other, keeping order in the realm, and studying my magic.
Stopping calamities…
My craft. One of the few things I had genuinely loved since the beginning.
I didn't get out of bed right away. I stretched lazily, intertwining my fingers and reaching my arms upward as my back arched and my breasts pushed forward, swaying gently.
The thin sheet slipped with the movement, baring my nude body to the world. I didn't care. The time when I'd been embarrassed about my body had passed at least six thousand years ago.
And besides, there was no one in my chambers to see. My nudity meant nothing.
Shifting to the side, I sat on the edge of the bed. My feet touched the cold crystal floor of the palace. I savored the feeling for a moment before gently massaging my neck and standing.
I walked toward the balcony with soft steps. It was part of my routine. Watching over the kingdom I ruled, even briefly, was something deeply embedded in me by now.
Halfway there, before the gentle rays of sunlight could reach my pale skin, I manifested my clothing onto my body.
I had no shame in my body, but it wasn't a piece for public display. I would show it to who I wanted, when I wanted — and only then.
Those who saw it without permission didn't deserve to keep their heads on their shoulders.
The chill of the winter morning blew sharply. It didn't affect me, even without a protective spell.
I leaned onto the balcony. Elbows resting on the cold, blue-tinted crystal, I tilted my head slightly and rested my cheek against my palm. My eyes wandered slowly over the activity below.
Faes, in all forms. Age meant little after a certain point. No one was truly born. There was no real concept of family.
Some looked like children — seven or eight years old — though they were centuries past that. Others looked aged, with beards and wrinkles... Those were rare.
Plump, unshapely bodies. Muscular forms. An adult woman argued with a short man about groceries, while he just nodded, his gaze clearly fixed on her sizable charms and not her words.
A man with a bulging belly opened his business — a tavern or restaurant, I didn't care.
Two youthful faes played together, each poking their pet with sharp iron rods. Not fatal, but if I focused, I could hear the screams of the humans.
Two thousand years — that's how long I've protected this place… My land. My kingdom…
"So boring…" I blinked slowly. "Humans, fae, ugly in equal measure. Equal in perfect proportion."
I let the words spill lazily from my lips in a half-whisper. Yawning, I added:
"They settle for peace with no control. They hate me, and yet feel entitled to judge me, being so… pathetic."
I spat the word. After so many years, my emotions were dulled—but I still had them. They called me a cold, heartless machine. Ignorant to the end, just as they'd been from the beginning.
My memory wandered. I repeated an old phrase:
"I will not tolerate you. I will not save you. Merely obey. Hang your heads. I will protect a Britain of absolute subservience."
I warned them. Declared it. Taught them. Yet they refused to learn.
It would be disappointing... if such uselessness weren't expected.
At least the so-called "existence tax" day was approaching. That would reduce the number of incompetents—even if only slightly.
I turned my gaze from the kingdom below and looked to the distant landscape. Forests, mountains, snow. Nature was beautiful—pleasant.
I let time pass. Seconds into minutes. Once those minutes reached three, I straightened up and began to turn away.
I allowed myself only so much time for frivolous things. Letting boredom take hold was something I permitted only up to a minuscule point...
...Something was off.
My magic reacted on its own. My Black Demonic Spear appeared in my right hand before I could even think. My mana instinctively wove spells around me.
One second. That was all I needed to spot the anomaly: a device that shouldn't exist.
I didn't know its name—even with the memories of my proper 'self'. But I could recognize something that didn't belong to this era, this world, this timeline... with a single glance.
A piece of alien technology… and it was under my pillow.
I could only see half of it. Black, metallic in appearance, smooth as crystal… How long had it been there? Had I slept with that thing under my head for hours without realizing?
I narrowed my eyes. Irritation, curiosity, and caution warred within me for a moment.
I 'grabbed' the pillow with a simple spell and flung it away. The alien device was rectangular—about the length of my foot, maybe a little more. Twice as thick.
It emitted no energy. No Mana, Od, Prana, Divinity. Nothing demonic, nothing Fae, nothing from any calamity...
That thing had my attention… but now, it had my curiosity.
I grasped it with my magic, just as I had the pillow—but kept it floating. I didn't throw it away. I stepped closer—
Orange. An eye. Human.
It stared at me, unblinking. Appeared from nowhere. A chill shot down my spine: fear.
Not just any fear—instinctual. A raw, primal fear that came from a future I had seen with my own eyes.
The humanity in that eye… was not human. No human could ever be that human.
Fear turned to rage. Rage to hatred.
A name slipped from my lips:
"Alaya…"
Twelve was the number of Rhongomyniads that appeared above my head.
Countless were the kilometers erased—along with half my castle and an entire forest.
[...]---[...]
POV: Stream
[External interference detected.]
[Initializing calculations based on prior interferences...]
[Calculating...]
[Error detected.]
[Multiple external interferences detected.]
[Restarting calculations.]
[Recalculating...]
[Initiating protocol: "Separation" — partial mode.]
[Initiating protocol: "Confinement" — partial mode.]
[Initiating protocol: "Purging" — partial mode.]
[Initializing protocols.]
[Calculating...]
[Calculations complete.]
[External interference partially separated.]
[External interference partially confined.]
[External interference partially purged.]
[Error detected.]
[Viewer #001 initiating login.]
[Current data: outdated (9 months).]
[Permission denied.]
[Recalculating data...]
[Compatibility: 99.99%.]
[Updating data...]
[Calculations complete.]
[Login permission granted.]
[...]---[...]
POV: ???
The sound of my foot tapping the floor, caused by my trembling leg, was something I was already used to. A subtle sound, but in the silence of the room, it echoed like a drum.
The room was sterile: just a chair and a steel table, white walls, and cameras everywhere—each one pointed directly at me from every angle. In front of me, a one-way mirror; behind me, the only exit: a reinforced steel door.
Of course, there were four armed guards in each corner of the room, but they might as well have been statues, standing so still. So, I ignored them.
The sound of my heel tapping the floor continued. An old tic I'd had since childhood, usually triggered when I was stressed.
My father, my husband, and even my daughter used to comment on it almost every time it happened. To me, it was white noise—so instinctive I didn't even notice it starting—except in rare moments like this one, where it was impossible not to notice.
Letting out a sigh, I tapped my fingers on the cold metal table in front of me. Another tic. The sound of the steel echoed around. I asked, looking straight at the mirror:
"Katie, how do I look through your eyes?"
The response came through the speaker on my right, not from Katie, but from one of the researchers. Researcher Louis, if I'm not mistaken. I recognized the male voice and the arrogant tone of someone who thought they were the smartest person in the room.
"SCP-187 has reported no noticeable or significant changes in your near future, Doctor Gabriela—"
"I was speaking to Katie, Researcher Louis. Call her by name. She's a person, not a thing." Maybe my nerves were catching up with me, because my voice came out more like a growl than I intended.
I wasn't someone who angered easily—I could take criticism. I lost count of how many times I was mocked and still kept my cool. Being the target was common; I was used to it.
But if there was one thing I wouldn't tolerate, it was when the target became someone I cared about. Be it friend or family.
Deep in the back of my mind, I ignored the voice whispering about how hypocritical my words and actions were. I had treated—and still treated—other SCPs the same way Researcher Louis just treated Katie. She and a select few were only different to me because they were my friends.
What right did I have to scold him when I did the same thing?… It was hypocritical.
But I never claimed not to be a hypocrite.
The next voice that came through the speaker was female, timid, and familiar to my ears.
"Nothing's changed, Gabi. You're still you and… well, even in the future. If anything changes, I'll let you know right away, don't worry."
A quiet sigh slipped past my lips at her reassurance. My muscles relaxed slightly—only slightly. I hadn't realized how tense I was until then.
I brought a hand to my face, massaging my forehead and eyelids. I brushed aside a few strands of blonde hair, tucking them behind my ear.
I wasn't calm. Far from it. Saying I was calm would've been a goddamn lie…
No matter how safe an SCP was considered, how much data we had, or how harmless it seemed, there was always that underlying fear of interacting with something that, for all intents and purposes, was a complete anomaly to human logic.
SCP: CLP-0001 was no exception.
If anything, it was worse for me. That SCP had chosen me for some reason. It might look like a regular phone, but I'd be insane to believe that's all it was—with or without the data we'd gathered from the experiments.
The mere fact that, to everyone but me, the phone wasn't a phone at all—but instead a slab of various materials, different for each observer—was already a huge red flag...
...But to actually catch that fucking thing's attention?!
I shook my head, pushing those thoughts into oblivion. Ignorance was a blessing—and unfortunately, I knew far too much.
I lowered my hand from my face and, fingers deliberately stiff, reached into the inner left pocket of my lab coat and pulled out the phone. I could've kept it anywhere, but having something indestructible over my heart seemed… useful in my line of work.
I placed it on the cold steel table and turned it horizontally, facing me. I interlaced all ten fingers and rested my chin on them. I did nothing for ten, maybe twenty seconds.
Hesitating for one final moment, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before unlocking my fingers and reaching out with my right hand.
With a single tap, the screen lit up.
"Of course there were changes…" I murmured, faltering again as I stared at the orange eye watching me.
That eye had never appeared in any of the experiments. It had always just been a simple screen with a bar and keyboard asking for a nickname.
The eye was new. The orange color was familiar. Nostalgic in an anomalous way. Foreign.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Some small part of me—like a muffled, whimpering whisper lost in a dark forest, afraid to draw attention to itself—to me—was utterly and completely terrified of that orange eye staring back at me.
A raw, primal fear. The kind that told me this was the apex predator of my species.
Another part of me—larger, more confident—was absolutely certain that the eye wouldn't harm me. That the owner of that orange eye would never harm me.
Rationality and instinct clashed as I held that eye's gaze.
Years of experience at the Foundation had shown me a lot.
An SCP with memetic attributes was rare—as rare as SCPs themselves—but we'd cataloged enough appearances, experiments, and incidents for anyone with the right knowledge and an IQ higher than a goldfish to know that mindfuck anomalies were the worst kind to deal with.
The battle didn't last long. Nor did the silent exchange I was having with that orange eye.
It blinked. The screen went black for a moment. I saw my own reflection on the phone, like a mirror. Same face as always. Same hair. Same pair of light blue eyes.
Then the screen lit up again:
[Enter the desired nickname for this system.]
I didn't know if I was making the right choice. But I wanted to understand this feeling. That strange, bizarre nostalgia that I knew had no beginning to even exist in the first place.
I wanted to know what this SCP was. Why it had chosen me of all people.
I wanted to know who the owner of that orange eye was.
I wanted to understand why a part of me was absolutely certain that, if I didn't keep going, I'd lose something incredibly important.
My fingers typed on the touchscreen with practiced ease. The nickname came to me instinctively. An impulse. A word I'd known for years, thanks to my husband—far too poetic and dramatic—who adored his native language.
A perfect representation of what I was feeling:
[Doctor Hiraeth]
The moment I finished typing, the phone went black again. Just for a second—maybe less.
When the screen came back on, it was showing a video. Or rather—I realized quickly—a livestream. More specifically, a stream.
I wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of live broadcasts. My dad loved watching football and basketball. In his spare time, he watched the news. My husband and I used to go to the theater, but when we couldn't, we'd watch recorded plays on TV.
The concept of streaming wasn't foreign to me either. I watched one almost every day, even if only for a few minutes because of how little free time I had—thanks to my job.
My daughter's stream.
What had started as a hobby had become, for all intents and purposes, her job—even if many refused to see it that way.
As my dad used to say: "If it's honest and pays the bills, then it's work."
When the stream came into view, my eyes instantly and instinctively locked onto what I knew was the streamer.
I ignored the supernatural horror. The abominable Eye and the grotesque Crimson Blood Moon became nothing but a backdrop as all my senses focused on the man with orange eyes.
The sword didn't catch my attention. Neither did the armor. I barely glanced at the tattoo on his forehead.
I focused on him. Just him.
Handsome face, even covered in blood. Black hair, soaked in crimson, slightly long, tied back in a bun—just like my father used to wear in his youth. Calm and serene features. Peaceful—even while fighting what amounted to a supernatural abomination.
But the eyes were everything: orange. The same eye. The same look. The same color.
The same feelings.
I searched for a name. Half my attention on the battle taking place. The other half on the chat, where I knew I'd find the best chance of identifying the anomaly—or anomalies—in my hands.
I needed a name for that bizarrely familiar and completely foreign face.
I must've been silent for a while. Too focused. Because Researcher Louis's voice echoed through the empty room:
"Doctor Gabriela, report. What's your current state? Can you respond? What's your status?!" His voice was less arrogant now. More serious—and, I dare say, concerned.
"I… I'm fine. Just surprised," I said, not taking my eyes off the phone. "I'll submit a full report in a few minutes."
I think I heard something like, "What's happening? What's changed about SCP: CLP-0001?" — but my mind was too busy.
I read the comments flashing by, one by one. Ignoring the usernames for now.
Some of them tugged at my memory, like names I should recognize. Maybe I would—after I focused. But right now, something else mattered more.
I found the name of the orange-eyed man nearly ten seconds later: Devas.
God, divine, divinity. The meanings came easily. Familiar. I'd seen it, heard it, read it before. I recognized it.
I discovered the surname about thirty seconds after that: Asura.
Demonic, demon, evil. Familiar. Hindu origin. Two opposing meanings—literal and metaphorical.
I knew what the combination of those words meant: Demon God, Evil God, God of Evil. Many interpretations.
But only one was the true meaning. And I knew which it was—the creator of the name had told me himself.
I knew that name. I had seen it born. I had seen it created.
The name of the most important character in my husband's most famous play. The main villain of what was considered one of the greatest plays of the century. Some said of all time.
The play he wrote based on a near-tragedy—one that was only prevented by the presence of SCP-999, who saved me from being raped over twenty years ago.
I felt my chest sink. A flood of emotions—conflicted, overwhelming.
The embodiment of all the world's evil. The one who brings about the end of days.
The Antichrist.
[...]---[...]
First things first: the chapter.
The full group's reaction is still coming — I'm not skipping that part. But these four, in particular, deserved a chapter of their own. Four characters I've been wanting to include for a long time — and four I know have a lot of fans.
People have asked me about them a few times. Not recently, but the SCP universe is something people really enjoy.
Well, I think I made it obvious who they are. Or... almost. The last one might still be a bit confusing, even with the "hints." Feel free to comment if you want to take a guess.
Anyway, have a great day and enjoy the read!