The man glared at her, fury growing at this effrontery. Those who 
had come before had been weaklings, but they had at least been 
warriors of a sort. 


But this... this was disgusting. They might as well be sending 
maggots to fend him off. 


He started towards her, sword raised in one hand to finish the 
terrible deed. 


"Patheti-" 


His insult was cut short by the tumultuous crack of a gunshot, the 
upper portion of his skull blown into generous chunks of meat and 
bone. On the remainder of his face, there was the beginnings of an 
expression of surprise. 


Langley dropped the smoking gun in shock, staring in surprise and 
disbelief before retching out of human reflex as the man's thin body 
staggered a few awkward steps forward before collapsing. It 
twitched a few times, its scrawny limbs sprawled and entangled as it 
slumped into a graceless pile on on the floor. 


Of Blackmail and Bribery 


The door swung open, casting light into the dark room. In the 
entryway stood an old man. His face was creased with age, blushed 
red, and wet with tears. His head was bare, whiskers coated his 
chin, and his stomach sagged. He was a pitiful wreck. 


The room was cluttered with a thousand rarities. Life-sized portraits 
hung on the walls, depicting admirals, generals, kings and the old 
man himself. An exquisite king-sized bed, sheets of silk and frame of 
mahogany, was in the rear end of the room. On the nightstand 
beside it stood a rare Chinese vase. And in the centre of the room a 
rope dangled down, heavy and thick, from the rafters. It intertwined 
at the end, forming a sturdy noose. Below it sat a small plastic 
milkcrate. 


The old man sighed heavily. He stepped up, and stood on the crate. 
Damnit, damnit, damnit all to hell, he thought. He had no retreat, no 
recourse, no second option. He had no other choice. He would not 
endure public disgrace, nor would he further the agenda of terrorists. 
He started reciting a final prayer, though he knew his sins were 
unforgivable. 


'Holy Father... Your spirit is eternally forgiving... | repent,'he began, 
slipping the noose around his neck. He positioned so that his neck 
would snap instantly. He did not want to die painfully from 
asphyxiation. He had heard of criminals lingering for hours, dying 
slowly. He shuddered at the thought. 


He began choking up again, fresh tears rolling down his face. It had 
been perhaps three and a half decades ago, when he had been a 
young man. It had been a cool night, softened by the glow of street 
lamps and the moon. He had parted with his friends for the evening 
when he had spied her from afar. 


She had been beautiful. Her lips had pouted, her dark locks had 
tumbled down her shoulders. Her nose had curved regally, her legs 


were smooth and slender. And he desired her so. But what had he 
done to that beauty? What had he done! 


He had taken her aside, and had offered her a drink. Her acerbic 
tongue had fascinated him. But he had learned she had had 
another, one whom she had loved beyond measure, one with whom 
he could not compete. But just to be with her had been blissful. They 
had agreed to meet again. 


And they did. He had felt himself falling deeper and deeper, head 
over heels. She had aroused, fascinated, provoked conflicting 
emotions which rose within him, and had surged outward. He had 
raged that he could not have her. And he had decided he would do 
anything, anything at all, to have that beauty. 


A little something in her wine (only the finest for her, after all), and 
she did love him. He had taken her back to his apartment and had 
her love, if but for a single, brief moment. But he had panicked. He 
would have been thrown behind bars, his future prospects ruined, 
his name infamous. What did he do? He had taken her while she 
was still unconscious, stuffed her in a bag, padlocked the zip, and 
dumped her in the ocean. She had sunk deep. He could not have 
borne to cut her. She wouldn't have suffered, anyway - she had still 
been unconscious. 


He had thought nobody would know. And nobody did. He had 
attended a prestigious American university. He had attained degrees 
in both law and politics. He had been voted in as a small-town 
mayor. And he had ascended, becoming a prominent politician. He 
had married and had children. His wife could not compare to her, of 
course, but he loved her, for she was quick of wit and intellect. He 
doted on her in his decades-long grief. Many wanted him as the 
President of Peru. They cheered, chanted his name, and waved at 
him in the streets. 


But some had dug deep. They had came to his house in the dead at 
night, driving fearsome black vans. They had worn terrible ski- 
masks, and had threatened him at gunpoint. They had told him they 
knew, and had taunted him. 'You raped and killed that poor girl, you 
sick fuck,’ one had said, waving a Glock in his face. 'l should kill you 
now, but we need you. Do as we say and nothing will happen. 


‘In a few days a courier will come to your office. He will ask you 
about your children, and you will reply 'they are happily playing 
under the sun.' He will give you a letter. Do not open it. It will say 
what we want you to do. Open it when you're alone, then burn it.' 


‘Who are you?’ he had asked, quivering and shaking. 


"You don't need to know my name. But, we call ourselves the Hijos 
del Sol, the Children of the Sun,’ the terrorist had said, smiling a 
devilish grin, 'and you're gonna see a whole lot more of us.’ 


He kicked out the plastic crate. 


Snap. 


CotBG Archive / /20 - : Of Dragons and Serpents 


Warning: 


The following text may induce mild visual 
hallucinations. Personnel are to be applied with 
Memetic Counter-Agent: "Buzhou" before proceeding. 


The following documents are a collection of poems 
retrieved from a previously unknown faction of GOI-004 
("The Church of the Broken God"). Upon discovery, 
personnel experienced mild visual hallucinations of 
various images, depicting dragons similar to those in 
eastern mythology, or unnaturally sized serpents. No 
long-term effect has been detected. 


The poems appear to be translations of materials of 
different origins, written in various time periods and 
regions. Notably, unlike other CotBG literature, both the 
entity "Mekhane" (Broken God) and the entity 
"Yaldabaoth" (Sarkic God) are described as dragons or 
serpents in the texts. They also reveal a more complex 
relation between the two entities than previously 
believed. One shows a direct link to ancient Chinese 
myths; the other is suspected to be linked to SCP- 


His Sword, Like Serpent 


+ Hypatia, Circa 100 BCE, Lesbos 


| have picked up His sword by the seashore, 
Who whispered to me soft words. 

First it told me about two great dragons, 
Then it spoke of man and war. 


Name: Dr. Levy 

Date: 27/10/2016 

Total Items: Four (4) 330ml cans of Coca-Cola brand 
soda. 


Input: One can of Coca-Cola brand soda. 

Setting: Rough 

Output: A small pile of aluminium filings and sugar and a 
puff of water vapor. 


Input: One can of Coca-Cola brand soda. 
Setting: Coarse 
Output: A can of Tesco brand cola. 


Input: One can of Coca-Cola brand soda. 
Setting: 1:1 
Output: One can of Pepsi brand soda. 


Input: One can of Coca-Cola brand soda. 
Setting: Fine 
Output: A small pile of cocaine. 


Name: Dr. Sanders 
Date: 12/25/2016 
Items Used: Three (3) DVDs with It's A Wonderful Life. 


Input: One (1) DVD with It's A Wonderful Life. 
Setting: 1:1 
Output: One (1) DVD with White Christmas. 


Input: One (1) DVD with It's A Wonderful Life. 
Setting: Fine 
Output: One (1) DVD with Home Alone. 


Input: One (1) DVD with It's A Wonderful Life. 
Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One (1) seemingly normal DVD with It's A 
Wonderful Life. Twelve (12) D-Class personnel viewed 
the film and, as soon as the movie ended, vanished. 


One was there to enlighten in the Eden, it said, 
The other a reckless god. 

One taught us to think and feel, it said, 

The other bred us from soil. 


The dragons once rest in the abyss, it said, 
Then came their sons and daughters. 

One had made a cage of His bronze skeleton, 
The other trapped and suffered. 


One wore a crown of thunder and lightning, it said, 
The other sat on a throne of bones. 

But the crown now in pieces and the throne concealed, 
Their descendants on earth live oblivious. 


| shall build Him a temple and an altar, | said, 

So the dragons shall be remembered. 

| shall light the candles and speak of prayers, | said, 
And make sacrifice of blood and steel. 


| have taken His sword back from the seashore, 
Crafted an altar out of iron and silver. 

| have laid the pillars and paved the floor, 

Lit the candles at nightfall. 


| have put His sword up on the altar, 
Where it coiled like a serpent. 

It sang in a language not of this world, 
Then spoke about men and war. 


It was when the priests lit the fire of bronze, it said, 
That the beasts of blood had gathered. 

Great colossi of metal stood tall with hammers, 

As horrible angels were called. 


lt was when the sky bled a crimson red, it said, 
That stars all flickered and trembled. 

Teeth and thorns clutching together, 

Roars and clanking long heard. 


There stood the dragons' descendants, 


Each fought for their only god. 
Men implanted themselves with inventions of god; 
Men reborn to be dragons and serpents. 


The one dragon shall cry with His tears of mercury, 
The other shall laugh as the chains rattle. 

There stood the dragons’ proud descendants, 
Regarding one another as pests and cancer. 


They bit and cut and summoned the lightings, 

Until one was torn and the other was lost. 

They fought on earth as their progenitors did in heaven, 
In elder times and formless void. 


The men are not better than their creators, it said, 
As the dragons no better than us. 

But broken is broken and lost is lost, it said, 

And | am but a mere sword. 


A sword forged by His sacred fires, it said, 
Sharpened to impale the heart of another. 

But as such a weapon | was never used, it said, 
Now lay rusted and shameful. 


In His Wasted Kingdom 


+ Dario Narvaez, Circa 1100 CE, Galicia 


| have reached the Shore of Light, 
Into His wasted kingdom. 

Our great Father the Serpent, 
Calls for his long lost children. 


| have sailed in His tears of mercury, 
And witnessed His blood of boiling iron. 
He has sighed and wept, 

For the strange fate we met. 


Our vicious Mother the Dragon, 
Her words are sweet, her powers are grand. 
But how can we choose to be beasts, 


Having learnt the ways of men? 


We were once their proud descendants, 

Given promises to inherit the land. 

But having forgotten the past and lost our sight, 
We crawled on earth like worms and pests. 


Endless wars we fought, 

All of them in vain. 

Grand cities we built, 

Only a shadow of past achievements. 


But | have heard you call, 

And know that you tolerate our ignorance. 
| have listened to your heartbeats, 

And know you have forgiven Mother's sins. 


| now stand in your wasted kingdom, 

Hearing the echoes of your voice and spirit. 

| have promised to seek out the shattered pieces, 
The heart, the eyes, and the cage of your skeleton. 


Seven pieces you are scattered, 
Seven pieces | will find. 

Seven pieces | will gather, 

So the dragon shall breathe again. 


| have stood in a desert of gears, 

Once components of a machine so grand. 
But | know your heart will beat, 

As your great fires reignite. 


| call upon you, Father Serpent! 
So our path may be clear. 

| shall rebuild you, Father Serpent! 
So Her sins may meet redemption. 


| have stood in His wasted kingdom, 

And wish | have seen its grander days. 

But we shall fulfill your wishes, Father Serpent! 
So our family may reunite. 


To Call on the Dragon 


+ Unknown, Circa 1400 BCE, Anatolia 


To call on the brass dragon, 
And have it consume your flesh. 
It is like a wolf indeed, 

To feed on the lambs of meat. 


Let it sink its teeth, 

Through the bones and organs. 
Let it claw out your heart, 
Drinking the blood and feast. 


To call on the brass dragon, 
And have it swallow your body. 
It is like a serpent indeed, 

To take the bird into its skin. 


Let it sink its fangs, 

Infecting with poisonous mercury. 
Let it coil around you, 

Crushing the spine and ribs. 


To call on the brass dragon, 
And have it bite you to pieces. 
It is like a beast indeed, 

To chop down the prey's head. 


Let it sink its claws, 

Through your final breath. 

Let it rip you open, 

Revealing the foul things beneath. 


To call on the brass dragon, 

And have it take your mortal body. 
It is like a god indeed, 

To release the man's spirit. 


To have your body sacrificed, 
To have your soul remade. 


To replace blood with mercury, 
And put cogs down your skin. 


To call on the brass dragon, 
What a marvelous machine! 
Leave behind your body of flesh, 
And rejoice in the dragon's realm. 


| Have Seen the Dragon in the Great Brass 
Cage 


+ Serik, Circa 900 CE, Tibetan Plateau 


Upon the mountain came a man, 

His lips were sealed but his eyes are many. 

In his company were beasts and serpents, 
Chained to his many hands reluctantly following. 


| came in front of him in fear and worship, 

Listening to the prophecy from the tongueless prophet. 
The serpents coiled and the beasts restless, 

But each held back by the eyes ever watching. 


"| have seen the dragon in the Great Brass Cage," He 
said, 

"Its claws are sharp and its breeds are many. 

Its mouth consuming stars and its scales large as cities, 
It coils and bends with the cage rusting. 


"| have heard chanting and seen his servants, 
Reborn from mere men to serpents and beasts. 
Sacrifices were made in exchange for power, 
But the great dragon never needs to feed. 


"It fed on the bodies of gods not the flesh of men, 
And it fell into slumber for ages and ages. 

But its glory reduces not and his crown ever flaming, 
Only a fool would claim mastery to such a thing. 


"Pity the Great Sorcerer King of Adytum, 


Who regards himself a god but an insect merely. 
Pity his Klavigar and proud Karcists, 
Who seek to rule the land but will all perish. 


"Pity the followers of the great brass machine, 

Their master scattered still in pieces. 

Pity the mortals who know not about the dragons, 
Descendants of the same blood but will die in ashes." 


My face went pale as the beasts roared, 

And | could hear the serpents shifting in darkness. 
The moon shed down a blood red light, 

As the mouthless prophet spoke once more. 


"| have seen the dragon in the great brass cage," He 
said, 

"Its teeth are sharp and its eyes are opening. 

Its crown shines and its throne to be remade, 

And when the cage shatters it will breathe." 


In the Shape of the Dragon 


+ Unknown, Circa 1900 CE, 


| have long been suspicious of the dark secrets in the 
false city, 

but it is only when I'm here that | came to know how 
terrible the secrets might be. 

| have only a wild guess of what unspeakable god the 
Hanged King bargained with, 

and | do not dare to think about the rotten things hidden 
in the opposite side. 

| have to write down my horrible discovery, but as the 
city's rules stand, 

I'm compelled to compose a poem instead of a journal. It 
is a carnival, after all. 


| have arrived at the great city of Alagadda, 
The place of treasure and the court of revelry. 
But as | peek deep down beneath, 


The rubies crafted out of blood and the gold made of 
meat. 


| have walked down the black corridors, 

Quiet and away from the cheers and feasts. 

As the singing faded and the black stars shined, 
| smelled in the darkness the rotten things. 


| stepped on the pathways and they felt like organs, 
| look up to see the pillars resembling ribs. 

| turned and ran until | met a blood river, 

And each step | made sounded like a scream.