Night of the Serpent - SCP Foundation

The Serpent crawls, guiding me down the ruins. Once a great temple of perfect clockwork and gleaming surfaces, now nothing more but a tomb of decay and rust.

I have entrusted my faith to monster and heresy, for I am desperate indeed. The Serpent cares not about Mekhane and her people, for it is a worshipper of many and none. It is here as both guide and witness, entertained to see me squirm and writhe.

But I have no other choice. I can only follow as the Serpent slithers downward, its bronze scales chime against the temple walls. A grotesque monster of changed flesh and forged metal, no better than the Sarkites that hunt us, yet a vessel of vast knowledge. It intrudes upon the machinations of the temples effortlessly, as the doors long disabled shudder and open, welcoming the snake like it was a high priest of the Broken One.

I now walk through chambers that I would have never been allowed in, deeper and deeper, guided by a beast more blessed than I ever was. And as the last door stirs and pulls open, revealing a long-dried fountain, my heart sinks. The last bit of Ichor of Mekhane sits high at the center, a gleaming silver against the darkness, yet not something that can turn the tides of war.

I kneel down, and clutch the edge of the fountain, bruising the golden exterior. “This is all for naught.”

The Serpent laughs. “Is it not the key? You seek to reverse the natural order, mending the One that was broken. Struggle fruitlessly against heaven itself, to return all things to the original One. This is just the thing you need.”

“I have no intention of feeding myself to the Ichor, not before my work is done.” It would be a blessed end, yet such blessing is too much of a luxury to consider as beasts of terrible flesh ravage the land.

“Then you have it all wrong,” It slides to the other end, facing its mask of bronze and high antlers directly towards me. “It should not be the Ichor that feeds on you. It should be that you must drink the quicksilver, making use of its power.”

“And how can I be this holy vessel, as the Ichor within dissolves my flesh and metal parts both?” I should take care not to anger the monster, but at this moment, faced with a long journey amounting to nothing, paired with senseless arguments, I simply care no more.

“Flesh and blood are weak indeed,” The Serpent agrees. “And even metal corrodes and crumbles. But with pure essence born from creation itself, it is not impossible for man to attain powers primordial. Your faith is admirable, yet it blinds you with fear and love, stay your hand from grasping true enlightenment.”

And my faith is truly shaken, as the Ichor ripples with the Serpent’s words, dancing upwards, as if pulled and shaped by hands invisible. Forming a perfect sphere, its light grows and pulsates, and for one moment, the place seems once again like a holy site. For a moment, I feel hope.

But the feeling does not last, as the Serpent’s terrible words register. “Is the blood of a broken god not the perfect ingredient for immortality and power?”

Suddenly I was pinned by forces unseen, my tongue stuck before I had the mind to protest. I can only watch in horror as the perfect sphere of mercury, which now seems solid, floats towards me.

“To follow the path of the Dragon, we need only refine the flesh to its original state, returning to the mindlessness where we were birthed. But to seek the way of the Serpent, we must find the right recipe, and test our minds against the will and wisdom of the One.”

My hands move seemingly with their own volition, taking in the Ichor with glee and greed. I fight, but my body is rigid as a statue, a mere automaton following commands.

“Fight me not, priest of the west. Is truly blasphemy, if one were to make a furnace of the body, and refine the holy mercury to wonderous gold, like one would with steel and bronze? Is it really tragedy to be remade, when you search so desperate to hear even the broken whispers from beyond?”

I take in the mercury and swallow, and it burns my entire being. The Serpent words barely register, as the sphere turns from silver to golden, changing every fiber of my being as it spins and sings.

“Oh, I wonder what would you do, when you reawake, enlighten and immortal? Oh, what would happen, when you meet your goal, repairing the broken and releasing that which was imprisoned? Oh, what would your faith be, when the mended sky shatter, and the Dragons twist and dance?”