Test subject D-67308 was exposed to an image of the organism, 
drawn by SCP-637-2. Subject gained a disheveled appearance and 
made several comments like "Nothing works... Isn't working... Want 
the cat out... Nice kitty..." When the subject was informed that it 
would be placed in quarantine for twenty-four additional hours, it 
reacted violently and swore at the guards for several minutes before 
lapsing into a semi-catatonic state. The subject's behavior was 
deemed non-harmful, and the subject was moved to a low-security 
dormitory on the site. 


After twelve hours, the subject unexpectedly self-terminated using 
the broken edge of a ceramic dish (provided with its meal). The 
subject was observed making several loud remarks such as "Get the 
cat out! | want the cat out! Leave me alone!" and commenting that 
the organism was a "brain-sucking parasite" before death. 


It is worth noting that at approximately the same time as D-67308's 
termination, SCP-637-2, who had been sleeping at the time, sat 
straight up and exclaimed, "Kitty's back!" 


« SCP-636 | SCP-637 | SCP-638 » 


A tugging at his robes interrupted his thoughts. He looked down at 
the boy trying to get his attention. 


"What is it, Jimmy?" he whispered, struggling to keep the tension out 
of his voice. 


"Well, Mr. Roger... Reggravi is gonna come, right? He's gonna save 
us all, isn't he?" 


Roger attempted to give him a wide, confident smile. It ended up 
looking more like he was baring his teeth. "Of course. Reggravi 
would never betray us. Isn't that what's written?" 


The boy thought for a minute, as if trying very hard to remember if 
this was true. He apparently decided it was because he nodded, 
plopped back down, and began looking around the group 
expectantly. 


He shook himself. Snap out of it, Roger. You were the one that 
found it, so why are you having trouble believing in it when a kid just 
accepts it like that? 

With these thoughts, he relaxed, but not by much. There was still the 
chance he was wrong. 

“Father Jacob?” 


He turned to look at the agent. "Yes?" 


"Do you have a plan for if this plan backfires? They are suspected of 
having some sort of artifact, after all. Shouldn't we at least call for 
backup since we didn't report this?" 


He snorted derisively. "If we waited around for all that paperwork 
and processing to build up, we'd never get anything done around 
here! Look, here are some heathens, so we're going to eliminate 
them. Plain and simple." 


"But even DeMontfort—" 


"Now, that's enough. We have a mission we are prepared to do, and 


we're going to do it." 
"...Yes, sir." 
"Good. Now, let me prepare." 


Jacob pulled a metal cone from his bag, lifting it up to the sky as he 
muttered, ”/ ask for guidance. | ask for strength. | ask for light. | 
respond with righteousness. Amen.” He brought the object back 
down as he told his co-worker, "Jerome, ready the rest of the men. 
You'll be cleaning up the stragglers after I'm done." 


The man next to him saluted and began speaking into his radio. 
Jacob raised the object to his mouth, inhaled deeply, and shouted. 


The blast of sound, probably loud in normal circumstances, was 
amplified to painful amounts by the near-silence and the enclosed 
space of the warehouse. Roger's hands shot up to the sides of his 
head to cover his ears. He peered over to where the attack seemed 
to be aimed at and was taken aback when he saw a circle in the 
center of the crowd, empty save for a tall hooded figure. 


Could it be... 


But not yet. Roger dared not to celebrate yet. Not until he was 
certain. 


After the echoes of the sound had faded, silence filled the dank and 
dimly lit warehouse. Jacob frowned. A blast from the object usually 
managed to clear out at least a circle of people. Instead, it appeared 
to only have affected one of the heathens, a tall man standing in the 
center of the gathering. Shaking his head, Jacob once again lifted 
the cone, aimed it directly at the standing form, and yelled. 


The figure’s hood fell to the floor, severed from the rest of his outfit 
by the attack, revealing a faceless head with large, bloody holes 
scattered across the surface. Several of the hooded figures shouted 
in surprised delight at the appearance of the entity, which simply 
stood tall and silent, the blood flowing more freely and turning darker 


and thicker with each passing second. These shouts turned into 
louder cheers and crescendoed into an uproar as all of the captive 
people screamed in triumph. 


And then our Savior alit on the earth, shroud humbly like 
His followers so as to fool the Unworthy. He walked 
among our people in their supposed defeat, left unseen 
by the enemy until the hour of Salvation dawned. 


“Jerome! Jerome!” Hunt strained to make his voice heard over the 
din. “Kill it and kill them quickly! Burn the building down if you must!” 


The man on his side nodded and sprinted off as Jacob once again 
lifted the cone, shouting at crowd with the tall, dirty figure remaining 
steadfastly erect in the center. Instantly, the faceless man seemed 
to shift to the front of the crowd, arms and legs outstretched like a 
star. Each blast shredded its already rough outfit, punching red 
holes all across its form. Agents were now openly firing at the crowd, 
but the being seemed to catch each and every bullet with its own 
body. As this continued, the ruby color dripping from these wounds 
darkened and a bubbling black liquid began seeping out. 


No, no! Jacob attempted to shout once more, but could muster 
nothing more than a rasp. Not yet! | can't be finished yet! He threw 
the object in his hand aside. Useless relic! God help me, God help 
me! 


He glanced up at the scene. The muck had completely covered the 
man's form and extended two additional limbs as it crashed forward. 
The roar of the cheering people was absolutely deafening. He 
watched as the creature bashed his men and enveloped their 
corpses with its filthy slime. 


A heartbeat rang though his mind. 


I'm not ready yet. | have so much left to accomplish. | can't die here, 
not now. 


He was still reaching for his pistol when the creature's front leg 


slammed into— no, through— his chest. The last glimpse of the 
mortal world Jacob Hunt experienced was utter blackness 
surrounded by the cacophony of defeat. 


The cornered people cheered louder and louder with each blast 
absorbed by their Lord. It seemed to flow and sway so as to 
completely shield them with its body, a body so perfect that the 
man's assaults were unable to faze it. He grew greater and more 
powerful as the blows became progressively weaker and the man's 
voice grew hoarse. When Reggravi revealed a form to cast 
judgement upon Jacob, they jumped to their feet and screamed in 
triumph as loud as they could. 


Roger looked on in awestruck wonder. / never should have doubted. 
| never should have thought He would let us go. After all, | wrote it. 
He glanced upward. Of course... this does mean that soon... well, it 
was about time anyways. He grinned. 


He rose as the Beast bared its fangs to strike. The 
Faithful were strongly shielded against the creature with 
His magnificent form, and by His sacrifice, He was 
instantly reborn as our Strength. He overran the 
Unbelieving while keeping those with the Faith protected 
by His love. 


The agents knew when they were outmatched. They hated admitting 
it, but they knew it was better to sacrifice a battle in order to win the 
war another day. Seven out of the original twenty members of the 
force managed to escape the building and flee to the nearest 
chapterhouse. 


The dark creature watched as they left, returning to the cheering 
crowd inside once their vehicles had driven out of its field of vision. It 
crawled over to the center as the people quieted themselves in 
reverence. One man began reciting sacred words, joined in by 
another, and another, and another until the entire congregation was 
detailing the legend of their Lord, Reggravi. 


As they neared the end of their tale, the creature's six legs 
shortened more and more until they were once again melded with its 
body. A large and luminous white flower began to sprout from the 
black mass, growing in size until it filled the warehouse with its 
petals. The people, still chanting, climbed up onto it as it rose higher 
and higher into the sky, clearing the path above them with a 
protective cage of thorns. When they had finished the saga, they 
started over from the beginning. This continued as the large flower 
soared upwards into the aether. Once they had finished the story for 
the second time, both they and the flower disappeared. 


The Beast slain and the Unbelieving conquered, He then 
met with His People, who told of His chronicle. Then, 
sprouting the Gateway of Paradise, He raised all of the 
Faithful up with Him as He ascended. 


"Project Malleus was never given authorization for this." 


"| know, sir." 


"DeMontfort himself even claims to know nothing about this 
operation." 


Jerome gulped. "I know, sir." 
"What were you thinking?" 


"Captain Hunt had deemed the cult to be dangerous and was trying 
to preemptively eliminate it before it could do anything. As his 
subordinate, | was following his orders." 


"That's not how we work around here, Jerome. You know that." 
"Yes, sir." 


Harold McLean sighed. "Well, at least we can get it all sorted out 
now, | suppose. | guess we'll start with how it even happened in the 
first place. Details about the group in question?" 


"They called themselves the Faith of the Scribed. They believed in a 


higher being that was summoned when written about. Most of their 
history is detailed in their holy texts," he said, holding up a midnight 
blue book. 


"| see. Give me that, then, and I'll deal with all of your disciplinary 
reports later." 


"Of course." 


As the agents left his office, Harold sighed. A /ot of good men were 
lost for no cause today. Dispelling these thoughts, he flipped open 
the book and began reading. 


"Reggravi was born out of the writings of Roger Legrand, the first 
Scribe. He detailed meeting the being, and so he did. Thus, our 
belief began... 


And in the aftermath, the survivors left and carried on, a 
group of seven. The Master would appear to each as an 
angel of their god every night, advising them in the ways 
of their Faith and making them into His Prophets of the 
Second Edition. Each would learn the ways of the 
Scribed through Reggravi himself and spread His word 
and knowledge through their writings. Thus, the new and 
greater wave of the Scribes shall come to order and help 
propagate His legacy. 


Jerome, arise. 


The man opened his eyes and stared at the form in front of him. It 
was a floating angel, face obscured by blinding light and clad in pure 
white garments. Its glowing wings seemed to stretch and 
encompass the entire room, filling the space with soft, gentle 
luminescence. 


My name is Bertrien, and | am your Protector. Let me guide you and 
show you the way. The being held out a single, perfect hand. 


"Yes, Lord," responded Jerome as he took his hand. "I'm ready to 


follow." 


And you will, child. But before | can take you, you must help spread 
my word and love to the masses. 


"| shall. Give me the law and | will obey. Give me justice and | will 
act as your envoy." 


Now, you are called the First Prophet by me. Go forth. 


« The Written God | Hub » 


Ignition, Part One- The Artists 


"Mrowrrrr." 


Was it already morning? Ahmad grunted as he felt a familiar furry 
paw bat at his nose and chin while he attempted to catch a few extra 
moments of sleep. Trying to prevent the genocide of your people 
with a simple letter was tiring work. The laptop was still open on his 
nightstand, the lightning elemental that inhabited it visible on the 
corner of the screen, asleep on top of the redundant battery 
indicator. He looked over the first few paragraphs from his reclined 
position, to see if he needed to make any revisions. 


To the esteemed leadership of the Horizon Initiative- 


First, We of the Broken One hope you are having a 
pleasant holiday season. We ourselves are preparing to 
celebrate the winter solstice. Now, we know how busy 
things can be at this time of year, but, on behalf of the 
people of my faith, | wish to bring some matters of 
concern to your immediate and full attention... . Also, | 
would like to apologize for any alarm or inconvenience 
we may have caused by delivering this missive to every 
Church, Mosque, and Temple in this land's current 
capital city. | did not know who was loyal to your cause. 


The puffercat began to protest his procrastination even more 
vocally, now that it knew Ahmad was awake. He gently scratched 
behind the cat's ears. "You can wait ten minutes, Rudolf.” 


The sharp, quick pain in his chest seconds later told him that it was 
breakfast time, damn it, and there was to be no argument. After 
extracting the furry grump from its resting place by his chest, he 
slipped into the small, wood-paneled washroom across from his bed. 
There he cleansed himself and got dressed slowly, gingerly putting 
on his formal robes and combing the tangles from his hair and 
beard. 


Ahmad shivered at the cold draft coming under the door of his hut, 
causing his robes to billow up slightly. This fresh burst of air brought 
into his hut the scent of old books and fresh food, bringing a smile to 
his face. Curiously, the greasy fruit smell that the Docents' lamps 
produced was also faintly discernible. The fact that the Library's 
presence could be felt from this far into the small city that had 
developed in the Reading Room was fascinating to him. 


Ahmad's messenger falcon, Jasmine, slept in the corner, still tired 
from the previous day's hunt. Remembering the last time he had 
unexpected guests in his home here, he felt it was a good thing. 
Many unfamiliar faces would be coming in and out throughout the 
day, and he really didn't want a repeat of the Fifthist incident. The 
ambassador had been in an uproar over the perceived slight (which, 
considering the man's temperament, seemed fairly common for 
him), but Anmad had convinced the Stargazer to relax and have a 
bit of a chat over coffee, once he got the bleeding stopped. They 
met one day a month now to play chess and discuss their respective 
worldviews. 


His eyes fell upon the memorial shrine in the corner, holding pictures 
of his wife and all those who were lost in the Horizon assault. The 
old priest sighed. 


So much death, so much destruction. Why were so many bent on 
ensuring his people's annihilation? And, by the oil of the Broken 
One, why must it always be the most peaceful of their people who 
were slain? It all started with The Betrayer, the God-Breaker Ab- 
Leshal. Then came the Daevite invasion, the fall of Constantinople, 
the goddamn Inquisition. The Brass Crusades. The Crusades better 
known to the public... and the Salem Witch Trials. His people 
always got caught in the middle of a conflict from their own 
arrogance and aggressiveness, and it was always the peaceful 
members who paid the final price. He had long preached that the 
Church's reliance on fear and cultural and theological posturing 
would be their downfall, as it was for many others, and now, part of 
their god had died because of their anger and self-righteousness. 


It was time to rectify this behavior before any more lives were lost. 


It was time to complete his mission in the Library. 


It was time for The Broken One to become Whole. 


But first, he needed coffee. This was going to be a difficult day.