"| was seeking a man traveling this very road," the man said as 
Gareth's worst fears were realized. "| was asked to find a 
churchman carrying a very special object to Shyton." 


"| have seen not a soul since | passed St. Lament," Gareth lied. "and 
there are certainly no men of the cloth in that disreputable city. 


revealed that it is permeated by extensive vasculature indicating that 
the organ is used for gas exchange. The subject's body appears 
emaciated, but the subject has yet to request food. If offered food 
SCP-828-1 will consume it "to be polite", but it is unclear if the 
subject requires regular feeding. The subject was found with severe 
tooth decay, and has been provided with dentures and dental care 
after containment. When out of water, the subject's skin emits an 
odor that has been unanimously described as pleasant by all 
prepubescent human subjects. Importantly, children have described 
the scent as comforting and "maternal" during interviews. Analysis of 
the subject's skin secretions has revealed the presence of a volatile 
organic substance which may act as a pheromone. It is 
hypothesized that this compound may aid the subject in its efforts to 
befriend children. Research into the mechanism of action is ongoing. 


SCP-828-1 has been extraordinarily cooperative with Foundation 
personnel during containment. Psychological analysis reveals that 
SCP-828-1 exhibits symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, 
including intrusive recurrent recall, insomnia, and hypervigilance. 
Paradoxically, these symptoms are exacerbated by exposure to the 
sea, images of the sea, marine mammals, and images of marine 
mammals. SCP-828-1 also exhibits signs of traumatic bonding to the 
Foundation and individuals associated with the Foundation. It is the 
recommendation of the psychological staff that this bond be 
exploited for the purpose of containment and study. 


SCP-828-2 is a heavily water-damaged amauti> that SCP-828-1 was 
wearing prior to containment. The garment is made of materials 
traditionally associated with Inuit clothing, seal fur, caribou hide and 
thick, woolen duffel. When SCP-828-1 places a child into the 
carrying pouch of the garment, the child is unaffected by cold 
temperatures or hyperbaric ambient pressure and does not need to 
breathe. The child remains conscious and aware while contained in 
SCP-828-2. 


Recovery: SCP-828 was recovered from Pangnirtung, Canada 
when a missing child, Nathan Qappik — thought to have been lost in 
a sudden storm — was discovered by fishermen on the abandoned 
island of Iglunga. The following interview was conducted by local 
representatives of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. 


Where did you hear such a ridiculous thing?" 
"A little bird told me," the man said with a grin. 


"Well, best of luck to you then," Gareth said, "but | have lost enough 
time and should be on my way." 


Gareth's heart sank as the man stood in his path and placed a hand 
on his shoulder. "| must ask a simple thing of you, my friend. | was 
told that the man | sought wore a particular object around his neck. 
Might you permit me to see what hangs on the chain you are 
wearing?" 


"It is a simple mememto, good sir, and you have no right to accost 
me about it. Now please unhand me." 


"Be reasonable," said the escaped slave. "If you are not the man | 
seek, then | mean you no harm, but | must know for certain." The 
man reached for Gareth's necklace and grasped the chain. Ina 
flash, Gareth drew his knife from its sheath and plunged it into the 
man's stomach. He gasped as the blade found home, his grip on 
Gareth loosening as Gareth drew the blade out and stabbed home 
again and again. 


"Forgive me, huntsman," Gareth said as the man fell to his knees, 
"put | can allow none to stand in the way of the Lord's work." 


"And forgive me, doctor," the hunter said as he struggled for breath, 
"but none can stand in the way of the one true God. Laudate Deum!" 


Gareth never heard the wolf coming until it lunged at him from 
behind, knocking him to the ground like a rag doll. He tried to turn 
and attack it with his knife, but the jaws of the beast found his wrist 
and his weapon dropped to the ground. Another wolf was on him in 
an instant, and soon the air was filled with the chatter of lesser 
creatures gathering all around him. The last thing he felt before he 
lapsed into unconsciousness was the chain around his neck 
snapping as one of the dogs pulled it from him. 


"This is your fault, Second,” the Seventh said. "We should have sent 


a knight, or better yet, a whole company." 


"We all agreed that would draw too much attention! A lone traveler 
was less apt to be noticed by their spies." 


In the chamber above, a D-Caste draws a handmade shiv from his 
robes and stabs a guardsman through the heart. 


"And yet he was found, Second. And he is dead, and the Holy 
Amulet missing. The evidence is incontrovertible—the Lord Bright is 
in partibus infidelium. The time for debate and inaction is over. | 
demand that the Council immediately order the commission of 
Procedure Escheat against all lands occupied by the animals, in 
accordance with Holy Containment Procedure 1845, and neutralize 
them once and for all." 


"You would escalate this crusade even further?" the Third asked. "It 
was your Neutralizationist nonsense that got us into this 
predicament!" 


The two watchmen guarding the armory are no match for the dozen 
D-Caste that attack them. In the dark, they arm themselves. 


"Lord Bright never intended the Holy Containment Procedures to be 
unchanged forever," the Seventh said. "It is known that the ancients 
changed them constantly. Nor did he mean for no demon to ever be 
destroyed—else He would not have left us the instructions to do so. 
It was right that we attacked the Seventy-Third chapel and 
destroyed the world-of-snow, for if they had learned to make it work 
a great doom would have befallen us." 


"Each of the ‘demons’, as you call them," rebutted the Third, "is a 
unique creation and a memory of the ancient world! There will never 
be another like it, and each one you destroy takes us one step 
further from re-learning that which has been lost!" 


The guardhouses are taken, and the sleeping soldiers are easily 
locked in their barracks and kept out of trouble. The D-Caste close 
the gates and seal the front door of the cathedral and begin to make 
their way into the catacombs. 


"If Lord Bright is truly among the heathens," the Thirteenth said, 
"perhaps He will be able to make them see the error of their ways. 
We must allow him time to win them over to the church." 


"Can we afford to take that chance?" the Seventh asked. "Every 
missionary we send into their lands ends up dead. Every city they 
win from us, they tear down our chapels and burn our Holy Doctors 
alive. They would just as soon destroy the Holy Amulet—and deny 
us the guidance and counsel of our Lord for all time—as listen to 
Him!" 


"This is heresy! If we do as you propose, we would be just as likely 
to destroy the Amulet ourselves, or lose it forever in the chaos! I'm 
sure you Neutralizationists would love nothing more but than to be 
rid of our Lord as well, but-" 


"Gentlemen!" The First shouted. "This is not the time or place to 
argue the merits of Neutralizationism! The Seventh has made a 
proposal—let us vote on it in the traditional manner." 


"Nay!" the Third said. "| shall Keep no secret of where | stand on this 
issue—and may no other man or woman in this room fail to do the 
same." 


Outside the meeting hall, the Omega Guard, swords and crossbows 
in hand, stare down two dozen orange-robed D-Castes with steel of 
their own. The sergeant nods to his men, and the guards lay down 
their weapons. The leader of the D-Caste smiles. 


"The matter has been decided, Seventh," said the First. "The vote 
stands nine to four. This Council will not act to neutralize the animals 
at this time." 


"Then | and my compatriots have nothing further to say at this time,” 
the Seventh said as he rose to his feet with the Ninth, Fourth, and 
Twelfth. "We shall be taking our leave. Guard, open the door." 


No sooner had the door guard begun the traditional knock than the 
door began to slide open. The four walked towards the door—as 
dozens of D-Caste, armed to the teeth, swarmed in and formed a 
circle around them. The door guards barely had time to draw their 


swords before the rebellious slaves’ steel felled them - and, blood on 
their swords, they stared down the remaining members of the 
Council still at their desks. 


"What is the meaning of this?” the First shouted. "This is heresy! 
This is treason!" 


"This is the tide of progress overwhelming tradition,” the Seventh 
said as he turned to the leader of the group. "Take these 
milquetoasts to the dungeon, and then send the word that the 
ancient fire is to be released into the western lands. Burn the 
forests. Burn the prairies. Burn the villages. Drive every last one of 
those animals out, and every last man who sides with them. Kill 
them all—the Lord Bright will know His own." 


The wind blew lazily over the barren hillside that weeks before had 
been verdant and full of life. Only a few blades of grass, here and 
there, erupted from the scorched moonscape. Nothing stood but the 
blackened stumps of great trees. Great mounds of ash scattered in 
the wind, the remnants of those animals the knights had gathered up 
and incinerated en masse. For hundreds of kilometers the 
devastation extended, a testament to the greatest fire the world had 
seen since the Great Breach itself. 


In the skies above, a lone crow glided in search of food. It was a 
long way from its home and knew nothing of what doom had 
befallen this place—it knew only that it was hungry and could find no 
food. Its eye caught a glint of light in a hollow hundreds of feet 
below. It was too shiny to be food, but perhaps another animal had 
been hoarding whatever it could find and had stashed the shiny 
object with some nuts or acorns? After determining that whatever 
creature had stashed the gleaming thing was nowhere in sight and 
would cause no trouble, it swooped down to investigate its find. 


The crow dug at the ground around the piece of metal that protruded 
from the ground. It wasn't food, nor was it even one of the things 
that humans sometimes stored food in—just one of the shiny little 
baubles they liked to wear. Disappointedly, the crow nudged it aside 
to see if there was anything underneath. 


Well, it thought to itself, this is certainly different. 


Deus Volt! 


It was an absolutely beautiful day, and Michael was overjoyed that 
his daughter Charlotte was finally getting married. It had long been 
time since his brood needed to be expanded, but Charlotte, to 
Michael's eternal joy, was a good Christian girl and was waiting until 
marriage. After that, like all good Christian girls, she would "be 
fruitful, and multiply." It was what the Lord commanded, after all. 


The wedding seemed like it would be eminently joyful, and soon the 
bride and groom were exchanging vows. 


"| do." 
mel dO; 


"If there is any objection to this marriage," intoned the preacher, 
"then speak now, or forever hold your peace." 


Michael would have been the happiest father alive, but then he saw 
a groomsman that he had never met before. This was odd. He was 
quite close to his now son-in-law, and had personally vetted each 
and every one of the participants in this union of the flesh so as to 
birth new vessels to be shaped in the image of the Lord — sorry, in 
this ceremony of Holy Matrimony before God — and he had never 
seen this groomsman at any of the rehearsals or in any memory of 
the past. 


The more he looked, the more wrong it seemed, and the more 
certain he became that it wasn't human. Now, some would have 
accused Michael of having a rather questionable history when it 
came to human rights, but he knew, in the pits of his sacs of flesh, 
that there was nothing human about this particular groomsman. It 
was a deeply unnatural shade of orange, and its chin seemed to 
melt off of its body as if housing a venom sac in its throat. Its hair 
seemed stiff and dead upon its scalp, and its eyes housed 
predation. Among the relatively youthful, supple bodies of the other 


groomsmen, it stood bloated and wrinkled, unnaturally aged yet 
completely ignored. 


Michael stood, fighting an unnaturally soothing buzzing at the limits 
of his hearing. 


"Daddy?" said his daughter, shocked. 


"Who is that man?" said Michael, controlling his voice as he pointed 
at the chitinous (he was sure it was chitin, now, for that was a gift 
given to him by the Lord) monstrosity. 


"This, dad?" said his now son-in-law. "Come on, you know who this 
is! It's Cousin Donny! Don't you remember him?" 


"SAD! | get the best, the best marriages. | love you. | love you all. 
Sad! Marriage is a very successful chance of success. Total 
knockout. Sad! When you're a god they let you do it. You can do 
anything. Grab them by the marriage. Sad! Losers and haters won't 
get it! Sad! Bigger and bigger is the esophagus of negotiation. Too 
much winning!" 


Everyone cracked up. The bride was crying tears of joy. The groom 
was doubled up in laughter. The fucking thing had this stupid smug 
grin on its face, like it had just won some stupid argument. 


"| want you out of this building," said Michael. "| want you away from 
my family. This is a house of God, and I'll not let you defile it any 
further." 


"Come on, daddy," said his daughter. "Don't be like that. It was just 
a little raunchy, that's all. He didn't mean anything by it." 


"It's just locker room talk," said his son-in-law, which caused Michael 
to feel a sudden and profound pang of regret. 


But there were much more important things at stake. He stepped 
into the aisle, ignoring the hysterical crowd, and made his way to 
"Cousin Donny." 


He grabbed it by the arm and was about to force it out, wnen— 


He was staring at the smallest shadow of something that 
transcended vision. It stretched beyond all comprehension, for it was 
older than mankind and older than the faith he knew to be true. It 
was the primal insect, that had roamed the skies above the 
dinosaurs, the great Cicada, that was reborn from every death, 
called Khepri by the Egyptians!. It would live forever, rising from 
nothingness and returning to it, while the humans that now infested 
the earth would pay it lip service, knowing nothing of what they 
worshipped. He was insignificant in its shadow. He could not fight it. 
He would go back and accept the payment his child was due to 
render. He was nothing. He was scum. He was— 


He was Michael Richard Pence, follower of lon, devout of 
Yaldabaoth. He was an heir to the true god of the earth. He was a 
master of the flesh, for he was a Zend of the Nalka, and he knew the 
secrets buried deep within the Bible, the secret Christianity barely 
spoken of in the waking world. He was a man of ambition of vision, 
and he would not bow before a false idol. He had already resisted 
the terrible demons of gear and wire that claimed to be the gods of 
tomorrow, but a being of flesh? Of discarded chitin and muscle? 


Why, he couldn't have asked for a better canvas. 


As a Zend, he wasn't given the same level of power afforded to the 
Karcists, but his superiors had seen to meld his flesh with that of the 
electric eel. When he had first received his gifts, he had despaired, 
thinking them a curse of the Machine. Oh, how wrong he had been. 
Even the most instinctive beasts pulsed with lightning in every 
motion. Instinct was lightning, the God-given fire of Yaldabaoth. The 
power he wielded was as divine as that of more traditional 
fleshcrafters, and possibly even more versatile, as he had learned in 
his experiments with all those young men.