a monsterlover, not a monsterfighter

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Item #: SCP-7302
Object Class: Uncontained
Special Containment Procedures: Due to the unique abilities held by members of SCP-7302, containment is not feasible at the moment. Surveillance teams are to monitor any occasion in which two or more members of SCP-7302 are in contact for any anomalous phenomena.

The clearest known image of SCP-7302-0.

Description: SCP-7302 is the collective designation given to members of the Teratophagous Club, an organization centered around the consumption of anomalous entities. While the club has existed in some form for centuries, its membership has never exceeded 6 individuals.
All attempts by Foundation staff to contain members of SCP-7302 have been unsuccessful due to the abilities resulting from consumption of anomalous material. Following a failed operation in 2013 resulting in 17 civilian casualties and 36 reanimation events, active containment attempts are currently considered inadvisable.
At time of writing, there are 4 known members of SCP-7302:

SCP-7302-1, also known as James Ewetell, a British chef and media personality. He joined SCP-7302 in 1997 with the claim of having consumed an anomalously poisonous rodent found in Scotland. Referred to in SCP-7302 communications as 'The Chef'.
SCP-7302-2, also known as Jean Anthelme, a French politician known for his nationalist positions. He joined SCP-7302 in 1989 after the capture and consumption of a thaumaturgical entity in northern Africa. Referred to in SCP-7302 communications as 'The Politician'.
SCP-7302-3, also known as Kenneth Yan, a Chinese-American businessman. He joined SCP-7302 in 2005 after importing several anomalous chickens1 for their consumption. Referred to in SCP-7302 communications as 'The Import'.
SCP-7302-0, a heavyset Caucasian man of unknown name and origin. SCP-7302-1 has been a member of SCP-7302 since its conception, and his abilities and history are unknown. Referred to in SCP-7302 communications as 'The Founder'.

Addendum as of 2023-01-02:
On December 31st, 2021, SCP-7302-1 through -32 were observed to travel to Buckland, New York for their annual New Year's dinner. All three individuals entered a small seafood restaurant in the town's harbor in the late afternoon. Foundation agents established three surveillance points nearby.
At approximately 19:30, a 5.9-magnitude earthquake was recorded in the immediate vicinity of the restaurant. Upon entering the vicinity three minutes later, Foundation agents were unable to locate any members of SCP-7302. The interior of the restaurant was coated with several tons of viscera, none of which was a genetic match for any known terrestrial entity.
The location of the members of SCP-7302 is currently unknown. Investigation is ongoing.
Addendum as of 2023-01-05:
During the seizure and analysis of SCP-7302-2's personal assets, Foundation staff found a hard drive containing footage of several dinners hosted by SCP-7302. Based on the conditions of the room in which it was found, it is hypothesized that the videos were recorded and reviewed by SCP-7302-2 in order to fulfill a paraphilia related to the consumption of exotic meats.
The footage of the dinner held on 2022-12-31 was uploaded to the hard drive remotely immediately following the earthquake.

VIDEO LOG

DATE: 2022-12-31 19:23
NOTE: Footage was recovered from a camera attached to SCP-7302-2's chest. Designations used are derived from internal SCP-7302 communications for legibility.

[BEGIN LOG]
Recording begins with a view of the darkened seafood restaurant. The only visible lights come from the kitchen and a lamp hanging over a single table, where two men sit. The camera approaches the table.
The Politician: Hello, my friends. Another year come and gone, eh?
The Import rises and shakes The Politician's hand with a grin. The man at the head of the table chuckles, but doesn't get up. His face is blurred for unknown reasons, but it is clear that it is The Founder.
The door to the kitchen can be heard swinging open, and the camera turns to show The Chef approaching. His expression sours.
The Chef: Come on, Jean, do you really have to wear that bloody thing to every meeting? Makes me feel like I'm back in the studio.
The Founder: Now, now.
The Chef turns to look back at the table, as does the camera. The Founder has not stood up.
The Founder: Remember your vows, son. We are bonded in domination of the powerful. Who are you to critique how others enjoy their consumption?
The Chef: Of course. Of course, yes, I'm sorry.
The Founder: No need to be sorry! Just tell us what we'll be enjoying this evening.
The camera turns back to The Chef, whose face is paler than before.
The Chef: Yes, Founder. I'm starting us off with raw carbuncios to be eaten with lemon juice. For our main course, I've got a braised nuckelavee with water chestnuts, followed by the fruit of the Nicaraguan devil's snare as dessert.
The Founder: That sounds excellent. Let's begin.
The Chef nods and turns, stepping back into the kitchen. The Politician's camera turns back to the table, where The Import leans closer.
The Import: Let me tell you, getting the nuckelavee here was a nightmare. The Orcadian authorities required all sorts of specialty paperwork, and my usual pilot had some sort of qualms about the odor—
The back door of the restaurant can be heard swinging open3. The camera turns to show three silhouettes in the dark. A deep voice with a slight accent can be heard.
Unknown #1: Excuse me. Our car broke down outside. Do any of you have a phone we may use?
The Politician rises from his chair, raising the angle of the camera. From the sound of a chair scraping against the floor next to him, The Import rises as well. The kitchen door can be heard swinging open.
The Chef: What the hell are you doing here? This is private property. I should—
One of the three silhouettes flickers out of sight. There's a shout and a crash behind The Politician, and the camera turns to show a thin figure with long, tangled hair holding The Chef aloft by the neck. A bottle of wine lies smashed on the ground.
Unknown #2: What are we doing here? Do you have any idea what you've taken from me?
The Chef: What kind of insolent little shit—
The Chef 's skin ripples. For a moment, it looks as if it's about to slough off. The figure's grip visibly tightens, keeping it in place.
The Chef: What the fuck are you?
The individual who first spoke shouts across the room to their companion.
Unknown #1: What happened to waiting for Ashera to get here?
The figure holding The Chef spits and slams him against the ground. The Chef lets out a grunt of pain.
The Founder: Would you three care to introduce yourselves? I don't think we've met.
The Founder has not stood up from his seat. When The Politician turns back to the table, the other two intruders are now standing a few feet away. The man who originally spoke is tall and dark, with faint Arabic text on his arms. A smaller figure stands next to him with a hood over their face.
Unknown #1: That's not strictly true, actually. I am Youssef. I met Mr. Anthelme there in 1989.
The Politician: I've never seen you in my life.
Youssef: My, ah, impatient friend over there is Carys. She met Mr. Ewetell somewhere in 2005, I think.
There's a rough sound from behind the camera as The Chef attempts to speak. From the crunch and noise of pain that immediately follows, Carys has injured him further.
Youssef: And this is Akae. Mr. Yan, do you recognize her?
The Import: I'm tired of this. Founder, I'll take care of them.
A soft, wet, sprouting sound can be heard next to the camera, and a sudden gust of wind ruffles Youssef's hair. The hooded figure standing next to Youssef lunges. By the time The Politician turns towards the Import, the figure has a steak knife from the table pressed against his jugular. The Import has sprouted black-feathered wings, and his nose has swelled and turned bright red. He is motionless, his eyes crossed as he tries to watch the blade.
Youssef: You should recognize her. You saw her three months ago, right before you struck down the woman she loved.
The Import: I haven't killed any women. I swear, I haven't!
Akae says something quietly to him. Her blade draws a red line of blood on his neck.
The Import: I don't speak fucking Japanese!
The Founder: He's referring to the tengu, Kenneth. The one whose wings you're currently wearing.
On the other side of the table, The Founder is leaning back in the chair, eyes on Youssef.
The Import: The, the fucking tengu? That wasn't a woman, that was—
The Politician: Ken, for your own sake, read the room.
The Import stops talking. The camera turns back to Youssef.
The Politician: If you know who I am, young man, then you know what I can do.
Youssef: I know perfectly well what you can do, yes.
Youssef leisurely rounds the table and approaches The Politician. The footage begins to show distortion resulting from a powerful thaumaturgical field.
The Politician: I can summon lightning from on high. I can turn you into a louse and crush you beneath my heel. I can—
Youssef: You can enter a home uninvited.
Youssef passes through the flickering magic as if it isn't there. The Politician takes a step back, then another.
Youssef: You can find a man while he is sleeping. A man of light and magic and innocence. And you can drive a blade through his heart. I know this from personal experience.
The Politician: How the fuck—
Youssef grabs a knife from the table and drives it into The Politician's belly, out of sight of the camera. The Politician stumbles backwards against another table, slumping into one of its chairs. Youssef stays in view, his face cast into silhouette by the light above the table behind him.
Youssef: You only have the magic you've digested, Mr. Anthelme. I was surrounded by it for twenty years. There's nothing you can do to me with hatred that I haven't felt with love.
The Founder: I'm going to have to agree with Mr. Yan here, actually.
He stands up and stretches.
The Founder: This has become quite tiresome. Kenneth, speaking of, is a small knife really all it takes to defeat you?
The Import opens his mouth to speak, but Akae interrupts.
Akae: The tengu invented swordplay. Eating one teaches you nothing.
The Founder: And James, you give up so easily? Against a malnourished waif?
Carys: He's using her magic, or trying, he's trying to use her magic, but he never knew her name. If you don't know her name, if you don't love her, you get nothing, you get dregs, you get nothing! Nothing! Nothing!
There's the loud crunch of broken bones, followed by a soft gurgle. The Founder sighs.
Youssef: It's okay, Carys. It's okay. We've got this.
The Founder: Ah, I misspoke. He gave up against the lover of one of the many selkies that we have had the pleasure of consuming as part of this club. My mistake.
There's a hiss from out of view, and in an instant, Carys has her hands wrapped around The Founder's throat. He seems unaffected.
The Founder: I can appreciate your positions. But I don't think you quite understand the league you are in.
The Founder's skin ripples, then bursts open in a dozen places. Thick, dark tentacles erupt from his skin. They wrap around the three intruders, trapping their arms against their sides. When The Founder speaks again, his voice is slurred due to the tentacle twisting out of the side of his face.
The Founder: You three, you've bedded a few demons and think you can call yourselves powerful. But I have consumed entities you cannot imagine. I've eaten entire mythologies, entire pantheons. I've swallowed gods whose names are lost to time, while leaving room for dessert.
Unknown: What were their names, then?
The Founder's eyes flicked towards the entrance. The expressions of the three intruders become oddly calm. The camera's angle doesn't show who spoke, but there's a soft light coming from the direction of the voice.
Unknown: If you consumed them so proudly, then you must have learned their names, no matter what time has done. What were they?
The Founder: Why would I bother remembering the names of gnats I've swatted?
Another tentacle sprouts from his torso and speeds out of view, towards the light. A crunch can be heard, followed by a wet splatter. The tentacle stops moving. The Founder's expression can't change due to the intruding tentacle, but his eyes widen.
Unknown: I hoped for more, you know. I hoped you held even the slightest respect for them. For her.
Unknown: But that was foolish, wasn't it? There's no respect in your world, is there? Since anything worth respecting can be consumed.
The Founder: What do you think you are?
More tentacles sprout from the base of the motionless one. Each falls motionless as soon as it reaches out of view. The unknown voice continues speaking.
Unknown: Her name was Tiamus, by the by. She was glorious and cold, and her voice was like whalesong, and her tentacles stretched the breadth of the ocean. And here you are, barely controlling a room with what you stole from her.
The Founder: I don't know what you are, but I will break you. And you will be the greatest meal I've ever had.
With a blur, The Founder disappears off-screen. The other three intruders fall to the floor.
Unknown: I'm someone who loved her in every aspect. And when some idiot consumed one of those aspects with no thoughts in his silly little head, the rest had to go somewhere.
Unknown: That's how love works. It's reciprocated worship.
There's a loud crunch, followed by a pop. The three intruders within view disappear, and a wave of viscera slams into the camera, ending the footage.

[END LOG]

Following review of this video, the corpses of SCP-7302-1 through 3 were found heavily compressed against the back wall of the restaurant. The viscera surrounding them had almost entirely dissolved their bodies.
Locating and containing the four individuals responsible for the dissolution of SCP-7302 is a top priority.

Footnotes
1. The exact anomalous nature of the chickens is unknown.
2. SCP-7302-0's methods of transportation have yet to be identified. He has only be observed at events related to SCP-7302.
3. As the back alley leads directly to the water outside, Foundation agents were unable to secure a vantage point facing it. However, no individuals were observed approaching the building from any angle.

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