Link to article: Gaze into the Abyss: Part One.
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:scp-archive]] [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] The Old Man paced along the endless corridors of his domain. No beings ever last long here. No life of any kind lasts long here. Only death and decay would come here to stay. Yet today, the Old Man paced through his halls. There was something here. Something with the spark of life. Anything that had the spark of life taunted him, reminding him of the life he couldn't have. The source drew nearer as the Old Man entered a room. In the center sat a pit surrounded by gnarled and twisted roots. The roots appeared to originate from the pit and had begun to climb up the wall, covering anything in its path. The Old Man didn't recognize this room, or the pit which sat in the center, yet, there were many things about **his** domain he didn't know about. Here was the source of life, these roots that were thriving in the darkness angered the Old Man. These roots weren't permitted to thrive here. The Old Man grabbed at the roots, the black ooze that always followed and covered him wherever he went seeped onto the first root he grabbed. He held on the root for a while, feeling the tingling sensation that came with the black ooze. Hissing filled the ears of the Old Man. This sound... the sound of life being snuffed out... brought the Old Man great pleasure. He repeated this process for each of the roots until there was no life remaining. When the Old Man felt that all life in the room had been snuffed out he looked up to survey his work. The removal of the roots had revealed a set of four pillars which marked the corners of the room. The Old Man has never seen something of this sophistication in any room before. Each of the pillars were made of black marble. Dozens upon dozens of runes were etched into the pillar. The Old Man recognized some of the runes as Warding runes. In this room, the Old Man felt he'd lost some kind of control over **his** domain. The Old Man shuffled over to the next pillar. He found the same thing. Runes of Warding mixed in with other strange runes he didn't recognize. He shuffled over and inspected the next pillar, and found much the same as the previous two. Shuffling over to the final pillar, the Old Man found the same result. The Old Man realized these runes were connected to the pit. If these runes were causing life to permit in his domain, then runes be damned, he wouldn't allow it. He didn't know how or why, but he had the innate feeling couldn't control rooms like these. With these revelations in mind, the Old Man walked off into the endless corridors of **his** domain once again. It wasn't until a week later that the Old Man happened to stumble upon the room again. When he entered, the sight of gnarled and twisted roots greeted him once again. The Old Man could feel the spark of life radiating off of the roots, yet when he was outside the room, no life emitted from it. Life was adapting and evolving as it always did. The roots had become more gnarled and twisted than the last time the Old Man entered the room. This time, the roots had grown thorns all over them. This filled the Old Man with even more rage. Life wasn't permitted to live here, let alone **adapt and evolve**. Enraged, the Old Man tore the roots out from the pit once again. The roots disintegrated in his hands, it was a feeling that brought the Old Man great pleasure, but there was none to be had. The thorns that covered the roots cut and punctured his flesh, but the Old Man could care less, it was all pain he had felt before. The ooze did its job as the roots, a once healthy vibrant brown, became a withered black color, crumbling easily in his hand. The Old Man tossed the decayed roots into the pit, hoping to never see them again. Once he was finished, the Old Man surveyed his work. The room lay bare once again. He looked at the pillars and the runes. The runes that lined the pillars seemed to be glowing slightly brighter this time. The Old Man paid no mind to this. For all he cared, the runes would only illuminate in his presence. However, throughout the day, the thought of that room kept coming back to the Old Man's mind. Why were the roots still growing? Why had the Old Man never seen that room until a week ago? Thoughts like this kept dancing through his head until he couldn't bear it any longer. The next day the Old Man returned to the room. To the Old Man's shock and disgust, the roots had grown back, bigger, thicker, and sharper than before. Rage once again fueled the Old Man as he flew into a blind rage. He didn't notice the pain anymore, all he cared about was the roots were gone from this room and that life had been snuffed out of **his** domain. The roots had become more resistant to the vile ooze that seeped from the Old Man, it took longer for the ooze to eat its way through the roots. However, the rage that was fueling the Old Man allowed him to tear the roots like tissue paper. Life was persistent and this drove the Old Man further and further down the path of hatred. If life could stop adapting and evolving, it would make the job of the Old Man easier, yet that would never happen. As long as there was at least the smallest trace of life left in the world of creation, then the Old Man couldn't be at peace. Little did he notice the runes radiated ever more as he tore at the roots. The glow changes from a dark grey to a blinding white and then back again, as if they were alive. When the Old Man had finished he looked up and surveyed the room once more. It was then the Old Man began to feel a stinging pain in his hands. As he looked down at them, he noticed that the cuts and puncture wounds weren't regenerating at the normal pace he was familiar with. He saw a silver liquid coat his hands, a liquid that must have come from the roots as a defense mechanism. The Old Man could care less. He wiped his hands on one of the pillars and his hands begun to regenerate at the pace normal to him. It was then the Old Man noticed the increased radiance of the runes. The Old Man could tell some of the runes on the pillars had begun to lose their magic, but the Warding Ruins still remained strong, warding off whatever laid in the pit. The Old Man turned away and had begun to leave the room in annoyance when a quiet but persistent creaking and groaning sound filled his ears. Quickly the Old Man turned around and to his horror, the roots had already begun to grow back. Rage once again entered the body of the Old Man. He could finally tell this life was only persisting to taunt the Old Man. With this thought in mind, the Old Man set upon snuffing out the life these roots had. There was no pleasure in snuffing out the life of the roots anymore. Instead it had become more of an annoyance and a distraction to the Old Man more than anything. The roots had **evolved and adapted** even more this time. The ooze no longer was effective against the roots, it just slid off of the roots like rain on a windshield. Despite the strength of the Old Man now, the roots had become stronger, it was like trying to tear wood with nothing but your bare hands. But the Old Man persisted. Using all of his energy, he rid the room of the roots. But as the Old Man tore away the last roots something changed. The runes on the pillars began to glow a deep crimson red. The runes became brighter and brighter until the Old Man could bear it no longer and was forced to close his eyes. Then, the Old Man could hear the sound of a church bell, tolling seven times. Then the light faded, and the room returned to how the Old Man had left it. However, the runes no longer glowed, the roots no longer to be seen. The Old Man was pleased with this, but a cold chill ran down the spine of the Old Man. A feeling washed over the Old Man. A feeling the Old Man hadn't felt in a very, very, very long time... fear. But this wasn't a normal kind of fear... no... this was a primordial fear. A fear which had been hidden in the subconscious of all that walked in the world of creation. The Old Man approached the pit hesitantly, never before has the Old Man been hesitant to do anything, this was all new to him. Slowly but surely, he looked down into the pit. [[=]] **This time the abyss looked back.** [[/=]] He recoiled in shock, but there was no time to think. Quickly a thin, black, skeletal arm reached out from the pit and dug its razor sharp talon-like fingers into the floor. Slowly, a figure clad in shadow that seemed to make a cloak around it pulled itself from the abyss of the pit. A hood covered the figure's face, but the Old Man could make out **three hollow eye sockets** containing **three red orbs** that gave off a startling glow. As the being fully emerged from the pit, the chorus of bones snapping into place rang throughout the room. It righted itself and it stared right at the Old Man. The Creatures gaze seemed to last for an eternity. But as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared as it fled down the hall and into the domain of the Old Man. [[=]] The Old Man was left there in a state of shock. He could see the spark of life that was in that creature. He saw what was wrong about that spark of life. It wasn't life. Nor was it decay. Nor death. No. This was something old. Something older than the oldest being known to the Old Man. It wasn't eldritch. It was far older than eldritch. It was something horrid, something born from the time of the creation of the Tree of Life and Knowledge. Something before the Serpent was created to protect the Tree of Knowledge. It wasn't a creature of the crooked king either. No. It was a mistake. A **mistake** made by the creator themselves. Hidden from creation, cast into the abyss, forgotten to the passage of time... [[/=]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]