The surrounding woods began to disappear as the two walked 
closer to the mountain. Here they were. Bitch Mountain. 


"John, guess what you are?" Aryanne thought to himself. 


John perked up and turned towards him. He leered at Aryanne as he 
commanded "Get the camera." 


The enormous backpack Aryanne carried hit the ground with a thud. 
He made haste as he scrambled to get the camera, lighting, and 
microphone ready. Everything had to be perfect. They were trying to 
get subscribers here. 


As Aryanne set up, his mind wandered back to his untimely ban, 
months ago. He remembered the note, clear as day. 


"You have been IP Banned. 
- Fedora Man 
P.S: Don't try to be so edgy, m8." 


Aryanne knew all the admins of the undernet. Some he knew 
personally. Fedora Man was one of the few admins that Aryanne 
ever bumped heads with. Their arguments would often span 


countless of pages, with supporters cramming their opinions 
between posts. Aryanne was even backed up by other admins 
(despite not being one himself). Fedora Man dissented with every 
word that came from Aryanne. He was truly a euphoric asshole in 
Aryanne's eyes. 


Aryanne didn't need the undernet. He had a new purpose in life. 
With John, he didn't have hordes of people fearing him or kissing his 
ass. For once, he could live a normal life. 


The air began to become stale. The taste of the air was almost 
metallic, like a rusted nail. Aryanne's eyes grew wide with terror. He 
dropped a microphone in hand. John quickly looked at him. 


"Ugh." was all John managed to say. The air behind him began to 
swirl. A figure materialized in the midst of the swirling air. A short, 
stubby man in a trench coat stood directly behind him. John whirled 
around. 


"Who are you?" 


The man pointed to Aryanne. He tipped his fedora as he said: 
"Aryanne, you should know who | am." 


Aryanne became flooded with fear and confusion. Wait, what? This 
makes no fucking sense. He thought to himself. Can it be... 


A smirk grin grew on the man's face. "C'mon. My hat. You know it. 
Say it Aryanne." 


"Fedora Man." John spat out. "| Know who he is. He's a follower of 
my blog, Aryanne." 


"Intelligent, isn't he?" The Fedora Man replied. "He’s quite loyal, too. 
Is he your girlfriend or something?" He guffawed. 


| a 


"Wait, wait. Whoo." The Fedora Man tips his hat, looking at John. 
"M'lady". He continues to snicker, like a little schoolgirl. 


John recoiled in disgust. 


The air continued to fill with the man's laughter. After a few 
moments, the man fixes up his trench coat. His giddy and cheerful 
tone was replaced a more serious one. 


"John. First I'd like to say, thank you for the blog. Quite a ... 
interesting performance, to say in the least. Second, | came here for 
Aryanne. If you would kindly step forward." 


Aryanne stepped forward. 
"| don't get it." he said meekly. 
"It's very simple." The Fedora Man replied. "We want you back." 


Wait, what? Aryanne didn't understand. The same man who was the 
bane of his existence was now welcoming him with open arms. 


"You see, Aryanne ... You are an attractive individual. That is in the 
sense that you draw attention to yourself without really trying. What 
do they call it?" Fedora Man pondered. He spun his hat around his 

head. 


"Ah, yes. The power of attraction. Ha! You are quite magnetic, my 
friend." 


Aryanne's eyes squinted. Friend? 


"That is why | came to you for assistance. The undernet is in need of 
people like you. The admins are crude, greedy politicians. The 
people distrust them." The man's tone resumed to a more cheerful 
one. 


"But with a fresh face like yours, peace can once again be restored. 
Think about it, Aryanne. Your fame will be justified. You are the man 
people can relate to. With all that power, we can give you anything 
you want." 


"Are you serious?" John spat out. He growled. 


"Oh, I'm deadly serious." The Fedora Man's eyes gleamed. "Promise 
not to do another b& incident, and the admin status is yours!" 


Aryanne's memories flooded back to his glory days of the undernet. 
He remembered the rush he felt when he saw his supporters. He 
remembered the smug satisfaction of being the man behind one of 
the stupidest memes on the internet. He allowed himself to relish in 
those memories, for a split second. 


"No." John said "He doesn't need you, or the undernet. He's past 
that now." 


The Fedora Man's voice is lowered again as he answers: "I don't 
believe | was addressing you. | think Aryanne is more than capable 
of answering." 


Aryanne stood rooted in place. 


"Huh," The Fedora Man said, "| figured as much. Whatever shall we 
do?" 


"You can start by leaving." John hissed. 
"Oh no. That will not do. | will have to convince you, Aryanne." 


The Fedora Man begins walking towards Aryanne, shoving John 
aside. He produces a pistol from his trench-coat. 


"Aryanne, please think this over. As an admin, | had nothing against 
you. | simply cared for the welfare of the people. And besides, think 
of your former glory." 


Aryanne's eyes met the Fedora Man's. He saw small, dark beads. 
He was soulless. Aryanne's mind was in a whirlwind between his 
distant memories and his fast approaching fate. What was he going 
to do? He wanted to move a leg, an arm, something. Aryanne broke 
into a cold sweat. He was frozen by fear. 


"Time is running out, Aryanne." The Fedora Man chuckled. "Don't do 
this to yourself. Make the right choice." 


The Fedora Man pointed his pistol towards Aryanne's face. John 
immediately jumped in between them. 


"Oh, what's this? You're intervening?" 


John glared at the Fedora Man. 
"Oh, | see. You want to save your girlfriend. Well, you asked for it." 


John lunged at the Fedora Man. A shot was heard. Aryanne's vision 
was blurred, between the dust surrounding him and his eyes 
beginning to water. The shot left his ears ringing and his head 
spinning. Aryanne looked up to see flocks of birds hurriedly 
scattering in every direction. When he looked back down, he saw a 
body lay dead on the ground. 


The Fedora Man was dead. John was victorious. Aryanne's mouth 
was agape, while John sprinted towards him. John kneeled down 
next to Aryanne, who was already beginning to position himself into 
a fetal position. 


"Aryanne." John said. Aryanne heard his name mentioned as an 
echo. 


"Aryanne ... Aryanne. C'mon, get it together." Aryanne knew his 
name was being called, but was unsure to answer. 


"Snap out of it!" John commanded. Aryanne knew who had called 
his name. A smile was brought to his face. 


"John..." He whimpered. 


Both of them were silent for a moment. A soft breeze was blowing 
behind them. Aryanne could see the leaves blowing around him. He 
no longer smelled metallic rust in the air. 


"Aryanne. You know, if you want to return to your old life ... well, 
that's fine. I'm not stopping you." 


Aryanne wanted to say something. A lump was stuck in his throat. 
"The choice is up to you." John said. 


Aryanne was brought to tears. John himself wanted to cry, but 
stopped himself from doing so. He held Aryanne close to him. 


"| want you, John." Aryanne said between sobs. "But, no homo." 


The both of them stood by the foot of the mountains. For John, this 
would signal the first of his fans. 


For Aryanne, it would be his first enemy. 


Ash and Maple ~ Part 1 


Bryan's skin buzzed with magic, but his legs ached from days of 
hiking. Weeks of sitting in the forest hadn't prepared him for the 
miles of hiking up and down mountains. He had worked till his hands 
bled, building temporary Potential by repeating the same small ritual 
over and over, 18 hours a day, 28 days in a row. The only thing that 
had kept him sane through that process was the 8 other initiates, 
sitting with him in a circle around a maple tree. 


There wasn't anything special about the maple tree, but several 
times he could have sworn that a knothole was staring at him. He 
had grown to resent it, the knothole just sitting there staring at him 
while he worked himself raw for a chance, just a chance to be 
accepted as a mage. He checked again that the seed was siill in his 
pocket and walked on. 


They practiced as they walked the faint trail, a singing chant ina 
language like the rustle of wind through leaves, like the groan of a 
bough heavy with ice, like the whir of seeds spiraling through the air. 
lis atavistic splendour was rich and heavy in the air around them. 


Bryan was sixth in the line. His feet fell on leaves pressed flat into 
the soft earth by the initiates before him. Behind him, the last two 
sang and walked. He glanced back, sensing eyes on him, but the 
girl behind him was focused on traversing the terrain without losing 
her place in the song. 


He looked around uneasily. He still felt eyes on his back. Were there 
mountain lions in this part of the world? They might be eyeing the 
three goats the last initiate was leading behind them. Back home in 
California, if you felt eyes on your back in the wilderness, it was 
probably a mountain lion... 


NNN AN 


Assessment Team 763 crept through the forest after the nine 


been completely dissolved, but the eye itself was empty except for 
blood. We tried to take a sample, but the damn stuff animated too 

quickly, escaping the labs and rejoining the SCP-790's main body 

before we could stop it. | honestly don’t think 790-01’s going to live 
much longer- the only thing holding him together is his own blood, 

and that’s because it’s trying to eat him. — Dr Spelter. 


« SCP-789 | SCP-790 | SCP-791 » 


fledgling Type Blues. They were on a Response Level 2 mission to 
trail and eliminate a recently-discovered wing of KTE-Lerna (The 
Serpent's Hand), dubbed KTE-5325-Lerna-Blue. 


763 commander Lena Drummond wished they could get closer, but 
her Grey Suit wouldn't keep her unseen if she didn't maintain a 30 
meter distance between herself and the targets. Plus, (and she was 
increasingly nervous about this) the third from the back (Dubbed 
KTE-5325-Lerna-Blue-6) seemed all too aware of her team's 
presence. 


Yeah, they were kids. Hell, the oldest member couldn't be older than 
25, but they were members of the Serpent's Hand, and so they were 
terrorists. Still, she couldn't shake a feeling of apprehension as the 
six members of her team stalked through the forest. 


They needed to get wherever the hell they were going, and soon. 


NNN ASNn 


Seedlings-Spring-from-Cold-Ash stepped her consciousness out of 
her tree, new lips forming the words of the song instinctively. She 
was the youngest dryad in the Grove, having just managed to create 
a humanoid form last full moon. 


She loved it. 


She loved the sound of the wind. She could feel the wind in her 
branches, but having ears? having skin? It was a completely 
different experience. And colours? She knew what colours were, 
having experienced them through her links with the rest of the 
Grove, but she could never have predicted the fact of them on her 
verdurous eyes. 


She turned those eyes on the leaf-strewn ground. It looked like any 
other patch of earth in this forest, but just beneath the surface, her 
roots drank the rich earth. She could feel them, through her link with 
her tree, and through her roots she was linked to all the other dryads 
in the Grove. She could feel them all, so many ancient minds in 
harmony with her own. With those minds in harmony, they could call 
on the collective magical power of the Grove and work their wills on 


the world around them. 


"Seedlings-Spring-from-Cold-Ash, would you help me grow rich fruit 
for the festival?" 


She turned and smiled at Strong-Roots-Dig-Deep. She could have 
communicated through their shared connection to the Grove, but 
they were the two youngest dryads, and had yet to grow jaded to the 
novelty of speech. They had spent many lovely hours exploring their 
new forms together, as well as the curl of magic worked by hands 
and lips. 


"It would be my pleasure," Seedlings-Spring-from-Cold-Ash joined 
Strong-Roots-Dig-Deep in a different song, moving fingers in 
complex patterns in the power-charged air. 


As they sang, seeds carefully collected and stored burst forth with 
life. The ground around them grew thick and lush with pepper plants 
and tomatoes, strawberries and snap peas. Seedlings-Spring-from- 
Cold-Ash raced her friend, growing succulent, rich tomatoes faster 
than Strong-Roots-Dig-Deep could grow her sweet bell peppers. 
Strong-Roots-Dig-Deep retaliated by playfully wrapping her in pea 
plants heavy with sugary snap peas, while Seedlings-Spring-from- 
Cold-Ash's strawberries burst into perfect ripeness all around her. 


They laughed and sang, collecting the fruits of their labour. When 
they had almost finished bringing the produce to the large stone at 
the centre of the Grove, they felt a ripple of attention go through the 
collective consciousness of the trees. 


They're here. 


NN AN 


Bryan heard the song grow louder, richer, as if their nine voices had 
been joined by dozens more singing a companion piece. He stopped 
dividing his attention between his feet and the shadowed forest 
behind him, and stared forward in shock. Ahead, the sparse 
undergrowth of the old-growth forest gave way to thick green grass 
strewn with maple leaves. Inside the border, the old-growth beech- 
maple forest was replaced with only strong, tall maple trees, much 


thicker and stronger than the ones outside the border. 


"The Grove,” he breathed, hearing the initiate in front of him burst 
into tears of relief. Soon, the ordeal would be over. He would either 
be a mage or a failure. He could see them now, figures in the trees. 
He made eye contact with one, a girl who looked about 20 with 
green hair and an armful of strawberries. She looked as curious 
about him as he was about her, which surprised him. She had 
probably seen other humans, but this was definitely the first time he 
had ever seen a dryad. 


NNANN 


"Chief, what the fuck are those? Hell, that one just popped out of a 
fucking tree" Agent Miller messaged Commander Drummond. She 
halted their pursuit and answered as best she could. She didn't have 
a clue but it would be bad for morale for her to reply that she was as 
clueless as they were. 


"Designate PTE-Lerna-Hogweed-06. Miller, contact command and 
request a strike team at our position. Wilcox, it looks like they're 
about to start a ritual. If it looks like they are about to sacrifice the 
goats, engage and neutralize the Type Blues before they can 
complete the Working." Okay. She had a handle on the situation. 
She hoped. 

She turned to survey the other five members of her Assessment 
team. 


"It will take half an hour for the nearest Strike Team to reach our 
location. If necessary, we can-" 


"Commander, the assumed sacrifices have been transferred to 
Lerna-Hogweed-06, after an exchange of words. Orders?" 


Fuck. She whirled around in time to see one of the green-haired 
figures bring a hand-sized thorn towards the goat in the lead. 


"Stop them, by any means necessary." 


nAwN 


The Grove happily accepted the symbolic gift of the livestock. Deer 


and moose were not hard to come by here, but goat was a rare treat 
brought only by visiting humans seeking boons. 


Seedlings-Spring-from-Cold-Ash felt a dozen more dryads step out 
of their trees and prepare to see if one of the initiates was well 
suited to merge with their collective. If one was worthy, they would 
be granted a connection with the Grove, and given access to some 
of the powers the dryads themselves wielded. 


The initiate in the back, a boy with winter hair and nervous eyes, 
passed the leads of the goats to Boughs-Bend-in-Summer-Storms. 
The ancient dryad took the leads with a bow and lead them back to 
prepare the livestock for the feast. She lifted a thorn made for the 
purpose, and- 


CRACK