were going. The notebook lay open on the floor. She kneeled to flip 
through it.. Funny. She barely remembered writing half of this. The 
whole week since arriving at this building had been a blur. 


It was difficult to think of it as anything other than “the building” 
because she had no other reference point to name it. She wasn’t 
even sure of the route they’d taken. There’d been at least three car 
rides, a plane, two buses after that, and what felt like a Way. Since 
then she hadn't left. The place was massive, luxurious- eight hours 
of exploring on the first day hadn’t brought her near mapping it all. 


Looking out the windows, she could see the distant silhouette of a 
mountain range. Impossible to tell how far away. Maybe a few miles. 
Maybe a dozen. When she looked down, she saw the perimeter of 
illuminated grass that surrounded the building, and the steel fence 
that marked the boundary. The outer light from the building 
disappeared as soon as it crossed its bars. It was always dark 
outside. 


Back in her room, she took a seat on the bed. Not for the first time 
this day (this hour, even) it occurred to her that agreeing to assist 
Rupinder had been an award-winningly shitty idea. Had there been 
other options? Likely not. But that knowledge didn’t drive away the 
feelings. She fell back on the mattress. 


You said you'd heard of Rupinder before, she thought. 


It took several minutes for the reply to come. Yes. Predominately 
rumors and speculation, but yes. 


What were the rumors? 


Contradicting stories of feats which, if true, would rank him 
among the most talented known spellcrafters. Travel between 
universes using only his will. Raising entire armies of the dead 
to fight for him. Besting gods in combat. 


Amy sighed and rubbed her temples. That shit he pulled back in the 
jungle doesn’t make me feel super confident they're wrong. 


Perhaps. Most experienced crafters are skilled at not tipping 


their hand. 


But either way we basically have zero hope of even becoming a 
minor nuisance to him. 


Correct. 


Man, she thought, this gets better by the minute. 


The air outside was freezing. Five of them stood in the yard. Amy 
had buried herself in a puffy green parka, but it hadn’t helped stop 
the shivering. A bulging backpack hung from her shoulders. The 
second was Rupinder, who looked completely unbothered by the 
cold, dressed in jeans and a thin sweater. Next were the Nish-Hyet. 
Amy had avoided talking to them since her arrival, and they her. At 
the moment they looked human, and oblivious of the weather. 


The final member was an East Asian-looking woman who, in Amy’s 
week long stay with the group, hadn’t said a single word. Like Amy, 
she wore several layers of clothes. Dark coats, gloves, a hat. Her 
face was twisted in discomfort, but she hadn’t uttered a word of 
complaint. 


They stared into a hole in the universe 


It was a large circle, about six feet tall, floating a foot off the ground. 
A bright light shone from it, shielding the other side from curious 
eyes. Amy had to squint just to glance at it. 


Rupinder nodded to the silent woman and stepped to the side of 
portal. She advanced. Their eyes met, briefly, before she crossed 
the light, and hers flashed with hatred. Rupinder wore the same 
bemused expression as always. 


After the light swallowed her, the Nish-Hyet crossed through. Amy 
and Rupinder stood alone in the yard. He extended an arm in a “no, 
you first, | insist” gesture. She glared at him and stepped into the 
light. 


It was like having ten thousand ants poured over her body at once. 
The sensation ran across her, pins and needles across every inch of 


SCP-685: Non-Bottomless Pit 


Item #: SCP-685 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: As SCP-685 is a geological 
feature, it is unable to be moved from its current location. A 20 km 
radius around SCP-685, designated Research Site-85, is to be kept 
clear of all non-indigenous or non-Foundation personnel. In addition 
to on-site personnel, SCP-685 is to be monitored remotely via 
satellite from Command- . 


Non-biological objects are to be autoclaved or immersed in 10% 
bleach solution for 30 minutes before being removed from the site. 
All other objects are to be kept under BSL-3 conditions for no less 
than six months. Personnel rotating off duty at Site-85 will be 
quarantined for one month, and subject to weekly physical 
examinations for the next two months afterward. 


Charges of C-4 are to be placed every m around the circumference 
of SCP-685, to be armed and detonated in the event of an incoming 
hostile object. Should any hostile object survive the explosion, it is to 
be engaged by the current on-site Mobile Task Force. Containment 
by means of a nuclear missile launched from is to be 
used as a last resort. 


Description: SCP-685 is a large pit located in a remote mountain 
region of ,locatedat ' "S ' "E. Itis roughly circular, with 
a mean diameter of 33.5 m, and appears to be a natural opening in 
the Earth's crust, with no signs of excavation. Roughly once every 
2-5 hours, objects are observed rising out of the pit, pausing ata 
height of +2 m relative to the rim of the pit before descending back 
into SCP-685. Inthe years that SCP-685 has been under 
observation, no object dropped into the hole has emerged from it 
again. Descending into the pit presents a danger to any explorer, as 
the objects have progressively higher velocities the deeper they are 


her skin. She felt the crawling in her teeth and gums, and 
instinctively clamped her mouth shut. The sensation only increased. 
The light swelled in intensity, so bright that even with her eyes shut it 
burned red in her vision. 


She took another step and felt solid ground. She opened her eyes, 
saw a wooden deck of a ship around her. The sky above was clear 
and pale blue, surrounding a red sun. The air was warm. A soft 
breeze pulled at her hair. She unzipped the parka and let it fall to the 
ground. 


A small handrail guarded the edge of the platform. Amy approached 
it and looked down. The ship was gliding through water so clear that 
if it hadn’t been for the wake, it would have been invisible. 
Hundreds- no, thousands- of fish flicked through the water, a living 
rainbow that went down until the water turned to dark to see. She 
watched, eyes wide, as a shark cut through the crowd to clamp its 
jaws around a large striped fish. 


This isn't really what | thought it would be like. 

You should try to grow accustomed to that feeling. 
She released the rail and backed up. Whose ship is this? 
Ours, for the moment. 

“Expecting something different?” 


She turned. Rupinder was standing a few feet behind her, hands in 
his pockets, gazing into the water. 


Leaning her arms on the rail in the most casual way she could 
muster, she said, “Dunno what | was expecting.” 


He nodded. “Not a terrible attitude to have. Useful, in some 
situations.” He turned and beckoned her to follow. Scowling, she did. 
“This is your first time sailing?” 


“First that | remember.” They reached a staircase and followed it up 
to a smaller deck. The woman and Nish-Hyet waited. 


“I suggest you enjoy it, then. There won’t be much need for your 
help as we travel.” 


“My own tropical vacation. Awesome.” She stood at the edge of the 
stairs, watching the group. 


“It should be a unique experience,” said Rupinder. He turned to the 
others. “We’ll deal with the sailing. Make yourself comfortable, 
please.” 


In response, she turned and walked away. The ship was somewhere 
between a yacht and cruise liner in size. A metal door opened into a 
thin staircase, and the dust-filled air within shuddered. A thick gloom 
masked any view of what lay beyond 


She let the door fall closed, backing up quickly. Making her way to 
the railing, she looked back down. A large eel-like creature had 
picked up the boat's trail. It swam behind, trying to hide in the 
shadows. Plumes of liquid clouded the water behind it, like blue 
smoke. A gathering of minnows fought to get at the trail 


The red eye of the reflected sun stared at her from the water. What 
would it be like, to jump into the sea? She pictured it enveloping her, 
tugging her down to the sandy bed. Silent. Still. Alone, where she 
would never be found. 


! wonder what's at the bottom. 


It was an idle thought, a mental muttering, but the response came. 
No one knows. It has never been reached. 


How many have tried? 
It is difficult to keep an accurate record. Few return. 
| wonder if they wanted to. 


A breeze flicked her hair across her face. She tucked it back behind 
her ear. To her right, one of the Nish-Hyet was fiddling with a lock. It 
stumbled as the door fell open, and she stopped herself from 
laughing. 


By the time she left the dock, the sun hung half-beneath the horizon, 
and the sky was the color of blood. She lingered at the stairs for 
several minutes before descending. The echoed sound of her 
footsteps sounded like the rhythm of a war drum. 


Following the hallway, she entered the belly of the ship, a dining hall 
that made her think of old cyberpunk films. It was empty, and she 
was all too aware of the whine of the engine as she crossed it. Down 
another hallway, the walls streaked with a greasy black substance, 
and she reached an empty room. There wasn’t much to it but a 
mattress, sink, and a bed welded to the wall. A window looked out to 
the water. She grabbed the mattress, dragged it up to the deck. 


By the time she fell asleep, the sky had turned pitch-black. The night 
held no stars. 


It was hard to tell which was worse, the walls of the interior that felt 
like a metal fist crushing her, or the openness of the deck that left 
her in a state of constant observation. Amy settled for nesting ina 
corner of the deck that was hidden from any of the crew as they 
worked. For the most part, they left her alone. The Nish-Hyet would 
leer at her as she passed. Rupinder occasionally tried to start up a 
conversation. To the woman, Amy seemed completely invisible. 


With the sun to her back, she cast spells in the shadows. Small 
ones, and she kept a careful eye on her body and surroundings for 
unintended damage. The Witness tried to coach her through the 
castings, but it was hard to follow the lessons. It kept forgetting how 
little time she’d spent studying, and skipped from teaching the 
basics to getting lost in musings over advanced theory and 
techniques she could barely comprehend. She was able to sift out 
useful information from parts of it, but it was slow going, like trying to 
chip through a stone wall with a spoon. 


From what she could gather from the information torrent, the cost of 
a rite was tied to what the caster valued, but not unavoidably so. It 
was entirely possible to cast a spell, only for the universe to decide it 
felt like taking a stone from three mountain ranges away as a Cost. 
But it also seemed to accumulate- the longer you went without being 
personally affected, the more would be taken when it finally came 


back around. Most attempts seemed to just drain her energy. After a 
dozen or so attempts, she was panting as if she’d just swam a mile. 


After lunch, out of curiosity, she’d grabbed a plate of food from the 
kitchen and placed it near her. It didn’t seem affected as she 
worked. Next, instead of eating dinner, she took it up with her and 
swapped it out with the lunch plate. This time, chunks of food 
vanished for most castings. 


So, extra food | grab from the supplies is worthless. Skipping a meal 
gets me farther. 


Essentially. The excess food would eventually be used, but not 
for more than one in twenty castings. Most likely. As | have said 
before, this is a fickle art. 


Right, she said, and closed her eyes. An image took shape, of a 
thorny stem spreading its roots in the dark and sprouting up. The 
stem sprouted a bulb, and the scales opened into a flamingo-pink 
rose. Her eyes still shut, she sucked in a breath and thrust her hand 
out. Something spilled from her palm; she opened her eyes and saw 
a pile of petals on the wood. 


Fuck, she thought. / thought | had it that time. 


You must hold the image clearer. Picture it as if it were truly 
here. 


“Shit, well now it all makes sense,” she muttered. 


“I’m impressed you were capable of even that,” said a familiar voice. 
She looked up and saw Rupinder. “It takes many practitioners over a 
year of study to learn to work even trivial summonings.” He knelt, 
taking a petal. He rubbed it between between the pads of his 
fingers. “Stable too. This is good work.” Glancing over his shoulder 
he said, “Taking the food was clever. Impractical, but clever.” 


“Seems pretty practical to me,” she said. 


“Many spells of the unpracticed already take from your physical 
energy. Skipping meals will only drain you that much quicker.” 


Dammit, that actually made sense. Bastard. 


He flicked a wrist, tossing a handful of daffodils into the air. They 
drifted back to the deck and disappeared with another wave of his 
hand. “Did you see what | paid for that?” 


Amy shook her head. 
“Look down.” She did. The petals had disappeared. 
“That’s not fair. How the hell did you do that?” 


Rupinder grinned. “Il cheated.” He rose to his feet. “I have shipwork 
to do. | can show more tomorrow.” 


As he walked off, the Witness snorted. | could have showed you 
that. It was just too simple. 


After lunch, Rupinder joined her on the deck. Amy scowled as he 
approached. “Didn’t say you could help me.” 


“That’s fine.” He walked a short distance away and stood, staring at 
her. 


She tried to ignore him, but even looking away she felt his gaze on 
her, like a centipede on her skin. Each time she looked up he was in 
the same position, motionless. His dark eyes tracked her smallest 
movements. 


As yesterday, she’d brought up her lunch instead of eating it (though 
taken a larger breakfast to compensate), and the casting came 
easily at first. The rites were simple- exercises described in one of 
her books as a sort of warm up. Holding a small flame in the air. 
Creating the noise of barking dogs. Shifting the color of a wooden 
slat. By the time she had run through all of them, the plate of food 
had become a plate of scraps, and she was breathing hard. 


“Another problem,” said Rupinder. He hadn’t moved, but like in the 
jungle, his voice seemed to come from over her shoulder. “Unless 
you have massive stores, edibles run through quickly.” 


Instead of responding, Amy closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. 
She let the air trickle from her lungs, then drew in another. The cycle 
continued, in and out, slow and calm, as the rose’s image took 
shape within the darkness. She raised her hand, exhaled, and 
imagined the stem flowing from her palm. When her eyes opened, 
she held a small sprout with a single thorn. 


“Fuck!” She hurled the growth away. It flopped to the wood. “What 
the hell was wrong that time?” 


Remember, it is about focus and clarity. You must- 


“Quiet,” she growled. The stem still lay on the deck. She kicked at it, 
smearing green across the wood. 


Rupinder stood statue-still. Amy glanced at him and quickly looked 
away. She looked at the plate. Calling up the rose had used the last 
of the meal. Trying the trick again might be risky. The cuts on her 
arm had faded to scars, but the wounds still ached. 


Movement caught her eye. Rupinder had turned to look out at the 
ocean. He stared, arms still crossed, and a blob of water fifteen feet 
across rose from the sea. The insides churned with the movement of 
dozens of fish, unaware or uncaring of their new environment.