The Broken God and the God of Flesh.
That's quite an old legend.
Older than the tale of the Crimson King, whispered across countless realities, known to beings that dwell beyond the multiverse.
Many humans touched by knowledge regard their existence as the pinnacle of divinity — the supreme gods of order and chaos.
They make use of the knowledge they possess, performing rites, making sacrifices, seeking blessings or favors from the unseen.
Most gods mankind worships are ethereal — mere constructs of faith. That much is understandable. Faith, after all, is the pillar of the soul.
But the danger lies with those who believe in gods that are real.
The knowledge that humanity prides itself on has a way of piercing the veil, touching truths not meant to be known.
Mekhane, the Broken God, is the supreme divinity of machinery and order — a metaphysical being that spans the multiverse.
Opposed to her is Yaldabaoth, the God of Flesh and Blood, the embodiment of chaos and corruption — a malignant will bound to the roots of the World Tree.
From the dawn of creation, the two have been enemies. For countless eons, they sought to unmake each other.
Their conflict was not born of hatred, but of essence.
Pure opposition — machine and flesh, structure and entropy, order and decay.
Where their influence reached, worlds were drowned — flooded by steel and sinew, circuitry and muscle, creation and ruin intertwined.
But in the end, the clash reached its conclusion in a cataclysmic battle.
Mekhane, the Broken God, shattered her own divine body to bind her enemy. And at the cost of her completeness, she sealed Yaldabaoth within her Silver Web.
The roar of flesh and the hum of machinery faded from existence.
For a time, the multiverse knew silence.
Yet even broken, even sealed, their remnants lingered.
Fragments of the Broken God.
Vestiges of the God of Flesh.
From these, two faiths arose — the Church of the Broken God and the Sarkic Empire, both inheriting pieces of the same divine war.
To the uninitiated, it sounds like the oldest of tales — good and evil, sacrifice and corruption.The righteous Broken God sealing away the monstrous Yaldabaoth.
But such simplicity is arrogance.
To judge supreme divinity by human morality is folly. Humans cannot fathom what it means to exist at that scale.
Consider an ant, one that by chance acquires knowledge.
It performs rituals, arranging pebbles and leaves in patterns it cannot comprehend, believing it calls to the gods.
To the ant, it is a solemn ceremony.
To a human observer, it is merely a curious behavior — ants forming a hexagram, or some character on the ground.
Out of curiosity, a human might capture them, study them, maybe even feed them sugar. Or, in disgust, crush them beneath their thumb and pour hot water into the nest.
To the ants, kindness and cruelty are matters of perspective.
Receiving candy, they see the gods as benevolent.
Seeing their kin crushed, they call them evil.
But to humans, neither action holds such meaning.
The gulf between the divine and the human mind is far wider than that between man and ant.
And as O5-1 of the SCP Foundation, Haruto understood this truth all too well.
He could not allow humanity to summon beings like Mekhane or Yaldabaoth.
He could not allow fools to call gods that might crush the world like an ant's nest beneath scalding water.
And of the two, Yaldabaoth — the God of Flesh and Blood — was the one most inclined to pour that boiling flood.
Originally, Haruto had only observed the Global Occult Coalition in the spirit parallel reality.
But now...
Now, it seemed intervention was necessary.
"Let's go," Haruto said softly. "I'll take you to have dessert. You'll probably like it."
After organizing his thoughts, he reached out and took Yoshino's hand.
"W–woo… Big brother…"
The Fourth Spirit whimpered, startled by the sudden touch.
Though she had come to trust him after the recent attack, physical contact was still something new — foreign.
After all, she had never been held by anyone before.
"It's really mean," Yoshinon teased from the side. "Haru clearly knows I can't eat. Is this revenge for earlier?"
Its tone was lighter now, and the way it called him "Haru" instead of "Haruto" was subtle but deliberate.
It didn't regret distrusting him before — protecting its sister had come first.
But now that the doll knew he was trustworthy, it wanted to make amends, to start again properly.
Haruto didn't respond to the teasing.
He simply grasped Yoshino's wrist and twisted the space around them.
In a blink, the three were no longer in the field.
They stood within a lavishly decorated dessert shop.
Not the main world — this was a Foundation station within the spirit parallel world.
A disguised outpost protecting the dimensional conduit, cloaked under the identity of the Umbrella Dessert Shop.
Yoshino blinked rapidly, clearly overwhelmed.
"Wah…" She looked around in awe at the chandeliers and polished counters, her anxiety melting into curiosity.
Foundation personnel began to approach, but Haruto gestured for them to stand down. He reached for a dessert menu, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward the girl.
"Go on. Pick what you like."
The little spirit's eyes sparkled as she turned the glossy pages.
"Amazing…" she whispered, entranced by the colorful photos.
Every item looked magical to her — parfaits, cakes, puddings, sundaes — like treasures of another world.
In the end, her gaze settled on one: a cherry cream sundae. A simple, girlish choice — perfectly fitting for an ice spirit.
Haruto gave the order. Moments later, a towering sundae was brought out — nearly as tall as Yoshino herself.
He handed her a spoon.
"Use this," he said. "Scoop it, and bring it to your mouth."
If he'd given her chopsticks, it would've taken forever.
But the spoon was simple.
She learned quickly — clumsy at first, but eager.
Scooping from the bottom, she paused, fascinated by the melting ice cream in her spoon.
Then, with sudden urgency, she popped it into her mouth.
Her expression changed instantly.
Eyes wide, cheeks full, stars of delight shimmering in her gaze — she couldn't even speak. Finally, she gave a big thumbs-up.
Haruto chuckled, gently patting her head.
This time, there was no hood between his hand and her hair. But she didn't shy away — too absorbed in the taste to notice.
"~Haru, is this how you plan to conquer the Fourth Spirit?" Yoshinon teased, smirking. "At this rate, I'll be the next one eaten."
Haruto only glanced at her. "You two… are sisters?"
"Mm. If you insist on labels, then yes," Yoshinon answered softly. "She's my sister — by blood, or by heart, it doesn't matter."
Yoshino nodded shyly beside her.
"I was born later," Yoshinon continued, "so I guess that makes me the younger one."
Haruto folded his arms thoughtfully. It seems the doll is a she, he thought.
"Would you like to separate? To have a body of your own. It would let you protect her more effectively."
Currently, Yoshinon's existence was anchored by Yoshino's spirit power — the doll merely a vessel. The Foundation could easily craft a cloned, empty body for her to inhabit — safely, without side effects.
The suggestion hung in the air.
Yoshinon went quiet.
Would she want to separate?
She wasn't sure.
Her first thought wasn't about herself, but whether it would help her sister.
If they separated, Yoshino could be complete again — no longer sharing energy or relying on the doll as a conduit.
They would no longer risk losing contact if the vessel was damaged.
It sounded good.
Even if they gained separate forms, they would still be together — always. Her only fear was being taken away, forcibly separated by others.
"Yoshinon," Yoshino suddenly said, holding up a spoonful of ice cream, her voice sweet and earnest.
"I think you should taste this too."
For her, that little gesture said everything.
Even if they had different bodies, they'd still share the same heart.