World Of Wolves: Interlude - SCP Foundation

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November 4th, 2016 : ENDODUS Phase 0

Many Lightyears From Earth

Planet of Eyes, fifty-seven, starvation.

Total five thousand, three-hundred and seventy-two.

The negotiations room was large and well-decorated, bearing the atmosphere of a forest cabin with its glazed wooden paneling, intricate carved furniture, and stone-encircled artificial fireplace.

This homely aura was not lost on either diplomat at the central table, but neither was it truly appreciated.

Planet of Skin, twenty-four, exhaustion.

Total five thousand, three-hundred, and ninety-six.

The smaller of the two, a young-looking man dressed in a suit of rippling grey fabric, refused to meet the gaze of the gunmetal monolith seated before him, which continued to prattle off statistics in that grating, gentlemanly tone.

Planet of Teeth, sixty-eight, blood loss.

Total five-thousand, four-hundred, and sixty-four.

There is a reason you have requested my presence today, is there not?

Statistics, and jabs.

Plenty of jabs.

“Of course, Great Death.” The diplomat spoke in sighs, through near-gritted teeth; he hated having to deal with higher beings, with their unending smugness & superior aura.

Planet of Ears, twenty, building collapse.

Total five-thousand, four-hundred, and eighty-four.

May I be informed of it, then?

The giant leaned forwards, it’s armor squealing in both the metallic & vocal sense.

The diplomat sighed once more, and cleared his throat.

“The Haven desires control over the Old Man.”

Silence.

Silence was unusual for Great Death.

The diplomat fidgeted in his black-leather chair as the monolith loomed over him, quiet & unmoving.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

He could feel its gaze upon him like the bead of a sniper waiting for the call.

Thirty…

The figure rolled backwards, erupting with snickers as steadily paced as the beat of a rifle.

It took about twenty seconds for them to begin speaking again.

Hah! Hah. You certainly seem to be getting desperate, aren’t you?

“Certainly not, Great Death.” This was through gritted teeth, now; if there was one thing the diplomat hated above all else, it was being seen as desperate.

Hmhrmhmhm, sure, sure.

The monolith straightened out, its pointed creat gleaming like the stern of a battleship.

Planet of Skin, seventeen, exhaustion.

Total five-thousand, five-hundred, and one.

I assume you know, though, that this is a tall ask of us.

“Of course we understand that, Great Death. We are not fools.”

The diplomat regains his calm, neutral demeanor.

“The Haven simply wants reassurance that your support in this endeavor remains absolute, as you promised.”

The giant chuckles again, more of a supply train’s steady churning this time.

Hrm-hm! Is that what you want to frame this as, then?

The diplomat tenses again, silently yet obviously seething.

“It is the truth, Great Death.”

Hrm, yes, of course.

The colossus stretches their arms, the sound of rending steel nearly deafening in intensity.

Well. I suppose that we could partake in another bargain of sorts, considering your society’s stature in the grand schemes of those above even ourselves.

At this, the diplomat leans forwards, an uncharacteristic grin spread across their face, in a display of glee comparable to a child being praised for their talent.

“You suppose, Great Death?”

Of course.

Provided you are accepting of the terms.

The diplomat’s expression falters, for a moment, before reorganizing into a facade of understanding.

“Right, yes, the terms. I am certain the Haven would be willing to-“

Two-thousand of your own, every month, for the rest of the Haven’s existence.

The monolith leans back once more, watching as the diplomat fumbles for a response, his mouth open in combined shock, indignation, and confusion.

“…B- But, Great Death, you already receive millions of sacrifices from us each day, what-”

Planet of Eyes, sixteen, starvation.

Total five-thousand, five-hundred, and seventeen.

Well, I must mean something else, then, would I not, hrm?

The diplomat momentarily sputters, before his face shifts in horrified realization.

“But such- such a large number of our own kin! We would surely collapse in a decade on those terms, you-“

Planet of Teeth, thirty-seven, blood loss.

Total five-thousand, five hundred, and fifty-four.

That seems a bit dramatic.

“I-“ the diplomat exhales in a fruitless attempt at composure. “The Haven would be willing to accept a- a lesser number, or a greater timespan, perhaps, but these terms as they are cannot stand, and you-“

Planet of-

“STOP MOCKING US!”

The diplomat clamps a hand over his mouth as the room shakes from an impact unseen, and the fireplace begins belching forth an abnormal quantity of acrid, sulfuric smoke.

The negotiations room begins blurring at the edges, as if the world’s own vision is fading, and the air starts to grow cloudy with gray clouds of dust, or ash, or pulverized rubble.

The view from the window is now one of carnage, as blooms of white & orange tear holes in the sides of the formerly grand & prideful cityscape, set against the backdrop of a black, soot-choked sky.

All the while, the monolith sits unmoving in their seat.

Silent.

…

The smoke clears, the impacts cease, the city is whole again; all in the span of an instant, as the monolith breaks into actual, human laughter.

Hoh-hohohohoh! Touched a nerve, I see.

The giant laughs again, before breaking into a brief coughing fit, as the diplomat watches in fearful indignance.

Eventually, the monolith manages to master itself, and speaks in that measured, irritant tone once more.

Ahem-hrm.

Still, the price is fixed; as it always was, always is, and always will be.

The only difference is scale, really. Hrhm.

The figure leans forward, their form casting a shadow like a grand artillery unit.

I can give your little utopia a week, perhaps even two, to.. think it over.

No more than that.

You know how… impatient warfare can be at times.

The titan stands from their chair of charred wreckage, which sinks back into the crater in the otherwise pristine wooden floor.

And speaking of, I believe I have some matters I must attend to.

Very productive meeting, I’d say. Ha-hm.

The diplomat, still seething in silence, watches as a hole rips itself open in the room’s roof, like a slow-motion shell strike without a projectile.

Just as the monolith starts rising away into the expanse above, they stop mid-air, & turn their misshapen crown of a head.

Haven of Man, one, old age.

Total five-thousand, five hundred, and fifty-five.

Heh.

I trust you will have an answer for me, when the time comes.

Farewell.

With those words, the Brother of Great Death ascends into the vast expanse above towards the nearest dust-grey, ruin-laden “moon” in the sky.

And below the diplomat lets their unblemished head sink into their wrinkle-free hands.

“…Goddamn it.”

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