SCP-2317 - The Devourer of Worlds / A Door to Another World

The fabric of our world is littered with doorways  if you know where to look for them. Tears,   portals, anomalies, all leading to places and  planes beyond human imagining and understanding,   and SCP-2317, otherwise known  as A Door to Another World,   certainly fits that description.

Contained and  kept at all times under the watch of armed guards,   SCP-2317 appears to be a simple and  unsuspecting wooden door in its frame.   It hardly looks like it requires such extreme  round-the-clock security or needs a strange,   secretive ritual that the Foundation performs,  presumably to keep the door closed.

But,   of course, sometimes the most interesting thing  about a closed doorway isn't where it leads,   it's what it keeps out. Even by the Foundation's already-high standards,   the requirements and regulations for  personnel who are assigned to SCP-2317   seem oddly specific.

Psychological testing is  standard practice for to work for the Foundation,   but an additional hurdle that anyone has to clear  before even getting to glimpse at this unassuming   wooden door is having a score of at least  seventy-two on the Milgram Obedience Examination.  

It is also mandatory that personnel assigned  to maintaining it are both unmarried, with no   children or next-of-kin, as well as an unwavering,  unquestioning loyalty to the Foundation,   pure devotion to its code and objectives. 

These may seem like strange requirements,   after all, SCP-2317 is just a door…isn't it? Perhaps there's a reason that the Foundation   keeps so much of the information about SCP-2317  buried deep under layers upon layers of security,   with only the Overseer Council privy to the  full details of its strange nature.

Knowledge,   as they say, is power - but maybe knowing too  much about whatever is behind that door can prove   deadly.

Still, if SCP-2317 is a Door to Another  World, an alternate dimension or parallel reality,   it must be safe enough to visit. After all, the  Foundation has been sending personnel in there on   a regular basis.

Daily, in fact. According to the  O5 Council, this is done as part of a procedure   to maintain Active Containment of…something  lurking beyond that old wooden doorframe.  

But what could possibly warrant such  constant maintenance and surveillance?  In accordance with the Foundation's guidelines,  all staff are required to rotate out of observing   SCP-2317 after every two months and spend the  following third month in full psychological   counselling before they are permitted to  return to the containment unit housing the   Door to Another World.

It was after one of  these month-long periods of evaluation that   a Foundation guard was informed that his security  clearance had been raised to Level 3 and that he'd   been selected for the duty of carrying out  220-Calabasas. He knew the name instantly;   this was the title given to the daily containment  procedure that absolutely had to be carried out. 

The guard didn't question these orders, after  all, he'd been selected precisely because of   his loyalty to the Foundation. He did make one  request to his commanding officer, however:   he wanted to know what had happened to the  last guard that had performed the procedure. 

"Didn't make it out of psychological  evaluation," the officer replied. 

Not letting this affect his dedication, the guard  was told to prepare for Procedure 220-Calabasas.  

Along with a fellow member of Foundation security  personnel, the guard was instructed to gather   everything on a strange list.

The first was  a pre-selected member of Class-D Personnel,   specifically a convicted murderer.

Class-D  refers to 'Disposable Class' personnel,   expendable individuals recruited by the  Foundation for the sole purpose of testing SCPs. 

Class-Ds were usually prison inmates  repurposed for SCP testing, and the   one chosen for 220-Calabasas was no exception,  serving multiple life sentences for murders,   or at least that was what the guard  had been told.

A Foundation personnel   member instructed him to refer to the Class-D  solely as the 'assistant' from that point on. 

Next, the guard collected a live chicken, an  obsidian-edged knife, a silver aspergillum   and aspersorium, to be filled with 500ccs of  Holy Water that had been blessed by a priest   of the Abrahamic faith, and finally a one-kiloton  nuclear device, which, according to instructions,   was to only be detonated in the unlikely  event of a catastrophic containment failure.   In other words, the last resort.

After following his instructions   to the letter and without question, the guard  and his colleague were briefed.

The Foundation   personnel member informed them that he'd be  joining and leading them in the procedure.  

The staff member also specified that henceforth  he be referred to as the 'celebrant' until the   completion of 220-Calabasas.

The guard was acutely  aware of how specific these instructions were,   but trusted in the Foundation, knowing that  if they wanted this procedure performed a   certain way, then it was in everyones' best  interest to carry out the orders to the letter.  

But what the celebrant then went on to explain,  raised far more questions about SCP-2317   and the nature of Procedure 220-Calabasas.

The  Class-D joining them, wasn't actually a Class-D. 

The assistant, as they were now referred to,  was in reality another Foundation staff member,   with a Level 4 security clearance,  specifically tailored to SCP-2317.  

Every member of staff entering through SCP-2317  and taking an active role in 220-Calabasas needed   to be informed that this assistant was not to be  harmed or treated as a member of Disposable Class.  

Fighting back the nagging question of why  the Foundation would employ this subterfuge,   the guard, along with his fellow security  officer, the celebrant and assistant,   prepared for their departure through  the Door to Another World at solar noon,   when the sun was highest over SCP-2317. 

Solar noon, chickens and holy water,   this all seemed like an oddly-occult  combination for the Foundation.  As they entered the old wooden door, beyond lay a  barren salt plane, stretching out for kilometers   in every direction.

This alternate dimension,  according to the briefing, was designated   SCP-2317-Prime.

The guard immediately noticed  a ring of seven pillars directly ahead   of the group as they entered, each of them  bearing intricately-detailed engravings   unlike anything from any era of ancient history.

Procedure 220-Calabasas was carried out quickly,   but carefully, the guard watching as the celebrant  and assistant were careful not to miss a step.  

First, the celebrant scattered Holy Water  into the center of the pillars with the   aspergillum and aspersorium, looking down  at his feet and keeping a steady pace as he   stepped counter-clockwise around them.

The guard  watched intently as the celebrant completed his   circuit around the pillars and turned to the  assistant, anointing his head with Holy Water. 

"Seven Seals, Seven Rings, Seven Thrones  for the Scarlet King," he said aloud. 

The assistant, with the obsidian blade in  his hand, took the chicken and dispatched it   in sacrifice, letting its blood mix with the  Holy Water. He then repeated the celebrant's   circuit in the opposite direction, before  stepping into the center of the stone pillars. 

"Blood for the Old Gods, Water for the New King,"  the assistant recited, pouring the remaining mix   of blood and Holy Water over a patch of  salt in the middle of the seven pillars. 

Even though he knew it wasn't his place to  question the Foundation, as the 220-Calabasas   procedure took place, the guard couldn't  help but wonder what all this was for.  

It seemed so…ritualistic, like something  deeply religious or even magical. He'd never   bought into all that occult mumbo-jumbo,  even while working for the Foundation,   but he had learned not to question anything, even  the strangest and most inexplicable of sights. 

Little did he know that beneath his feet,  was an ancient and unknowable horror.  

A beast, chained and lying in wait.

Contained  in a chamber directly underneath the pillars,   sat an impossibly-large creature.

Humanoid  and obese, its body covered entirely in   scales thicker than armour plating.

Branch-like  horns protruded from its jawless head, pointing   up to chains that hung from the seven pillars  above, each one hooked into the entity's back.  

All but one of the chains was broken, a  final, withering shackle keeping the Devourer   of Worlds in its underground prison.

Ever since 1894 BCE, when Erikeshan   mystics imprisoned it, the Devourer has been  waiting patiently for its inevitable freedom.  

It knows, as well as the Foundation, that nothing  can be done to prevent the final chain from one   day breaking.

Even Procedure 220-Calabasas won't  keep the creature contained, it's nothing more   than a smokescreen, an act, designed to create  an illusion of active containment and maintain   Foundation morale until a permanent solution  can be devised to keep SCP-2317 imprisoned. 

Of course, if the guard had known this, it would  have also explained the need for a one-kiloton   nuclear device as part of this staged ritual. 

Procedure 220-Calabasas has all the components   to trick everyone below the O5 Council,  emulating religious and occult rituals,   the increased level of security  surrounding the procedure and its purpose,   and telling staff that any failure to correctly,  and completely, perform the 220-Calabasas   procedure will result in an XK-Class End of the  World Scenario.

All these elements work together   to conceal the truth: that one day, the Devourer  will escape and lay waste to our dimension. 

Knowledge is power, and maybe knowing too  much truly is deadly.

Perhaps if the guard   had learned any of this, he'd have understood why  his predecessor never made it out of psychological   evaluation.

Maybe if he had questioned the purpose  of Procedure 220-Calabasas, he'd have learned the   true nature of SCP-2317, and what that doorway  kept out.

But he was loyal to the Foundation,   through and through.

As the team finished  performing 220-Calabasas and returned   though the wooden door, the guard took one last  glance over his shoulder at the vast salt plane.  

The entire dimension was calm, silent,  but not peaceful: it was patient.  

The entity had waited centuries for its time,  and now all it would take was the breaking of   the seventh and final chain.

One day.

The door was closed behind the guard   as he, the celebrant, the assistant and his  fellow security officer stepped back through,   their work done and, as far as they knew,  preventing catastrophe for another day. 

Only the Foundation higher-ups, the Overseer  Council, are aware of the true danger posed   by SCP-2317 and its sole inhabitant.

Current  predictions are that at some point within the   next thirty years, the Devourer of Worlds will  be freed.

Any and all attempts to repair or   recreate the chains holding it in place have so  far failed.

As such, the O5 Council has elected   to continue providing Foundation personnel with  the ignorant hope that Procedure 220-Calabasas   is an effective strategy for containment.

As we've said, sometimes the most interesting   thing about a closed door isn't where  it leads, it's what it keeps out.  

In the case of SCP-2317, the unassuming wooden  door holds at bay an ancient creature of untold   power, that will one day break free and wreak  havoc in our dimension.

Nothing the Foundation   does can prevent it, or keep it contained behind  the Door to Another World, and only the Overseer   Council knows that any and all efforts to  do so are futile.

With all that in mind,   we can only hope that the doorway of SCP-2317  stays closed, at least for a little while longer.